


Dragon in the Dark

by GracefulLioness



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Assassin Draco, Assassination, Assassination Attempt(s), Biological Warfare, Biological Weapons, But The War Isn't Over, Draco's POV, Drama, Enemies to Lovers, Espionage, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healer Hermione Granger, Minor Character Death, Murder, Mystery, Romance, Slow Burn, Voldemort is dead, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:41:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 164,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23084956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GracefulLioness/pseuds/GracefulLioness
Summary: The battle is won, Voldemort is dead, but the war is far from over. In the new Death Eater regime, Draco Malfoy does what he must to survive and keep his mother safe. Now a highly trained assassin, Draco has learned to think of his targets as inhuman beings, but when he is tasked with killing someone from his past, he can no longer hide from the horrors of the world around him.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 738
Kudos: 1174





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The long wait is finally over! Thank you all for being patient while I worked on this monster. I hope it's worth the wait. 
> 
> Alpha/Beta love: BiscuitsforPotter and DisenchantedGlow  
> Thank you both for helping me to bring this piece to life. <3

The sun had set long ago, its last rays faded into the pitch-black of night. Crickets chirped and cicadas filled the gardens of the stately home, giving an aura of peace on this late summer evening. 

But all was not as it seemed. Just outside this tranquil haven, a great threat stood, ready to strike. 

Draco had been stalking the property for the better part of an hour. He had to find the way in. These wards were strong, but no wards were impenetrable. They could all be broken; it was just a matter of finding the flaw. And finding the flaw in protective wards was one of Draco’s strengths. 

He checked his watch. There was still time. He tried two more spells and finally saw what he’d been waiting for. It was no more than a flicker, the briefest chink in the armour, but it was enough. He’d found the flaw. At last, with a well placed spell, the protections dissolved and Draco entered the back door of the dark home. 

A heavy silence filled every inch of the house. It pressed into Draco's ears as he crept through the kitchen. Some might have found this level of quiet oppressive, but for someone as…  _ experienced _ as he was, it was just one more detail to take in. As he drew closer to his target, the silence was broken by the ticking of a singular wall-mounted clock in the sitting room. 

He had studied the blueprints in detail. He took a left down the corridor to where he knew his destination lay. 

The study. 

Draco knew his target would be there. The file had been extremely detailed. Mr. Bernard Pillsworth always stayed up late, reviewing paperwork in his study long after his wife had gone to sleep.  There was a thin beam of light escaping from under the door at the end of the hall;  it seemed tonight would be no exception to Pillsworth’s routine.

Draco's dragonhide boots made no noise against the hardwood floors as he took confident, steady steps toward the door. He could feel his blood pulsing through his veins. Every tiny sound in the quiet home seemed amplified in his ears: the clock’s ticking like the beating of a heart, his own quiet breathing, a small cough from beyond the door ahead… a floorboard creaking under his weight. 

He froze, grimacing. 

“Anne?” a deep voice called  from inside the study. 

He stood very still, not daring to take another step—not daring to even breathe until Pillsworth’s attention returned to his work. After a moment, he heard a rustling of parchments. Draco continued taking careful and silent steps until he stood just outside the study door. 

This was the hard part. He had to be quick. So quick that there was no chance to fight back or shout for help or beg. Merlin, he hated it when they begged. 

His wand in hand, Draco felt his magic coursing through him, ready to be unleashed.  _ It’s time. Do it.  _ He raised his left hand and placed it on the doorknob. After one final deep breath, he turned it and pushed. 

The door swung open to reveal Mr. Pillsworth sitting behind his desk. Files and parchments were scattered about on the wooden surface. A faded wedding photo hung on the wall next to a rather unorganized bookshelf. The plump wizard looked up from his files, his brown eyes going wide, his mouth opening with the beginnings of a yell. 

Draco never gave him the chance. With a surge of magic and a flash of green, Pillsworth’s eyes faded and he slumped forward on his desk. 

Dead. 

It was done. Draco turned and swept up the corridor. 

As he crept back through the house, he heard unmistakable footsteps from above. Mrs. Pillsworth. She must have awoken when her husband had said her name. “Bernie?” a frail voice called. Draco’s heart thudded twice.  _ Get out. _

The stairs creaked and Draco hurried toward the kitchen. She couldn’t be allowed to see him. He thought back to his training—to one of the very first rules he had been taught:  _ No witnesses _ . Draco’s stomach churned for half a moment, but he pushed the feeling aside. She wasn’t on the list. She needn’t die today. 

He threw open the back door and descended the steps into the garden. The balmy August air hit his face and he prepared to apparate. His heart was pounding. He had never come so close to getting caught. Normally, he was long gone before his victims were found. A sudden shriek erupted from the house, the likes of which he had never before heard. It rattled through his body, leaving an imprint in his ears he would never forget. He apparated away, trying desperately to ignore the cries and screams as Mrs. Pillsworth found her husband’s body. 

* * *

Malfoy Manor was always bustling with life these days. There were always Death Eaters and supporters coming and going, eating meals at odd hours, reporting after various missions, and sharing stories of their rising numbers in Britain and overseas. Tonight was no different, despite the fact that it was past midnight when Draco returned. Dozens of Death Eaters and supporters milled about in the drawing room as Draco shed his cloak. 

Although he longed to go straight to bed and try to forget the night’s events, he was required to check in first. 

The parlour had been transformed over the past year into the new Dark Lord’s office. Many Death Eaters had grappled for the role in the wake of Voldemort’s death at the Battle of Hogwarts last May, but in the end, Antonin Dolohov had come out on top, naming himself High Minister—a slap in the face to Kingsley Shacklebolt who was currently serving as Minister of Magic. 

Dolohov was ruthless and extreme, but had a level mind. He ran the Death Eater organization like a business—a well-oiled machine in which all of his followers played a crucial role. The group was forced underground after the Order managed to regain control of the Ministry following Voldemort’s demise. They continued to carry out small attacks against Muggles and Muggle supporters. The Dark Lord may have been dead, but the legacy he established was alive and well. 

Draco cautiously entered the parlour, closing the door behind him. Dolohov sat behind a large, mahogany desk, reviewing files. Draco pushed the image of Mr. Pillsworth in his last moments from his mind. He pulled Pillsworth’s magically reduced file from his pocket and returned it to it’s normal size before dropping it onto the desk. “It’s done, my Lord,” he announced evenly. 

Dolohov looked up sharply. “Ah, Malfoy. Thank you.” He picked up the file and flipped through it. “Were there any complications?” he asked, his eyes flickering over Draco’s appearance. 

“No, High Minister,” Draco replied, keeping his tone icy, though Anne Pillsworth’s shriek was still ringing in his ears. “It was very clean.” 

“Well done,” Dolohov praised, opening a drawer and placing the file neatly within it. 

How many files in that drawer had Draco closed forever? He did a quick count, adding Pillsworth to his mental list. 

Draco was swaying where he stood. The Killing Curse was without a doubt the most draining spell he had ever performed. His soul ached, his eyelids were heavy, and he wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. “Will there be anything else, High Minister?” he drawled. 

“No. You are dismissed.” 

With a curt nod, Draco turned on his heel and left Dolohov alone. Back in the drawing room, he spotted his mother and his heart thudded in his chest. Her grey eyes surveyed him knowingly and he felt naked under her stare. With heavy feet, he walked over to her. 

“You should be asleep,” he chastised, thrusting his hands into his pockets. 

“Another one?” she murmured gently, ignoring his advice. She lifted a hand to brush a few tendrils of hair from his forehead. 

Draco’s jaw clenched and Narcissa’s face fell. 

“Why do you do it?” 

Draco frowned. “You know why.” 

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” she insisted. 

He nodded. “Yes, and you’ll stay that way as long as I do as I’m told.” 

Narcissa drew away from him slightly. “I can take care of myself, Draco.” 

Draco’s heart clenched painfully. His mother was a strong woman, determined to never show weakness. But he saw her for what she truly was here: a prisoner in a gilded cage. 

All of the threats had been… subtle, to say the least. Never direct or explicit, but the implications were always there: Obey, or she dies. 

He pulled his hands from his pockets and grabbed hold of hers. “Everything’s going to be fine, Mother. Trust me.” 

Before she could argue with him, he walked past her to head for the stairs. His eyes were heavy and his bed had never seemed more inviting. 

As he shed his robes and climbed between the sheets, he knew sleep would not come easily to him tonight. All he heard was the sound of Anne Pillsworth’s anguished screams playing over and over again in his mind. 

* * *

At breakfast the following morning, Draco fell into a rare conversation that had nothing whatsoever to do with the war. 

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I still think Krum is the best seeker of the century.” 

Draco looked at the boy next to him. William Hammond had taken the mark last year over the holidays before finishing up his seventh year at Durmstrang in June. To Draco’s knowledge, he was one of the first to be given the mark by anyone other than Voldemort. A true symbol of the next generation of Death Eaters. 

Dolohov had altered the mark ever so slightly to make it his own. At first glance, it appeared to be the same as it had always been, but upon closer inspection one could see the eye sockets of the skull were lit from within by glowing green orbs. Draco was careful to keep his covered as much as possible. The mark seemed to always be watching. He was sure it was just for show—a ruse to make followers feel like they couldn't get away with anything—but it still sent a shiver down his spine to look at it. The High Minister had personally updated each Death Eater’s mark after his ascent to power and had branded dozens of new Death Eaters as well. 

Draco remembered William’s initiation and marking. He had stayed strong and stood tall through the whole ceremony and Hammond senior had beamed with pride, but Draco had seen tears in the boy’s eyes when he came out of the wash room later. 

“Krum?” Draco repeated thoughtfully. “He’s nothing compared to Puddlemere’s new seeker, Vincent Bradshaw. That man’s an artist on a broom, I swear.” 

“You’re crazy,” William countered with a laugh. “Krum could fly circles around Bradshaw.” 

Draco just shook his head and took a bite of his toast. 

Shouts from the parlour had everyone raising their heads. The door was closed, but the sounds of a heated row drifted into the dining room. 

“Sounds like Macnair’s mission went a bit sideways this morning,” remarked Avery. 

A moment later the shouts died and the parlour door opened with a bang. Macnair stalked out, grumbling angrily under his breath. He swept through the dining area and down the entry stairs. 

William stabbed at his eggs with a pout, apparently uninterested in Macnair’s failures. “Shame they had to cancel the last World Cup. Think they’ll be able to hold it again soon?” 

Draco didn’t answer. Last year’s Quidditch World Cup had been cancelled due to the ongoing war. He couldn’t imagine it being held again any time soon, not with the war still raging on over a year after Voldemort’s downfall. 

“Malfoy,” called a stern voice. 

He looked up to see Yaxley beckoning to him. Draco stood, clapped William on the shoulder, and made his way over to Yaxley. 

“The High Minister would like to see you.” Yaxley’s tone was clipped and irritated. He was clearly not pleased with being a messenger. In the past, Draco might have goaded him about having to take Dolohov’s orders, but it hardly seemed worth it these days. 

Some Death Eaters who were less than pleased with Dolohov’s ascent to power, sometimes referred to the High Minister as ‘the usurper’ when they were sure they could not be overheard by Dolohov’s most loyal followers. Draco wondered if Yaxley was one of them. 

With a curt nod, Draco walked past Yaxley and into the parlour, where Dolohov was waiting for him with a crisp folder and a scowl. He closed the door. “You asked for me, High Minister?” 

“Yes, Malfoy. I have an assignment for you.” Dolohov gestured to the file he held. 

“Another one?” Draco grumbled without thinking. His assignments were usually much more spread out. He had never before had to perform two hits within two days. 

“Yes, well, if your fellow Death Eaters were more competent, then I wouldn’t have to send you to clean up their messes.” Dolohov opened the file and flipped through the pages. Draco noticed that it was a larger file than usual. Dolohov continued, his voice heavy with ire. “It may be a challenging one. You’ll have to catch her on her walk between work and her apparation point. She normally leaves work around five o’clock, but you’ll need to be prepared in case she leaves early. Once she makes it back to the Order safe house, you won’t be able to get to her.” 

_Her? Order safe house?_ Draco felt his stomach drop. He had never assassinated a woman before. Nor had he ever targeted a member of the Order. Most of his marks were Ministry officials or private citizens who acted against the Death Eaters. He cleared his throat. “An Order member, High Minister?” 

Dolohov nodded. “I know it’s a bit unusual, but I assure you that it is extremely necessary.”

“Very well,” Draco grunted. “When would you like it done?” 

“Today.” 

Draco balked, but quickly regained his composure. “High Minister,” he negotiated calmly. “You trained me. Surely you realize that this doesn’t give me enough time to prepare. Especially for a target like this.” 

“I know, but we cannot delay. Time is of the essence. Get it done.  _ Today _ .” Dolohov held out the file, and Draco took it. “Everything you need to know is in the file. Do not disappoint me, Malfoy.” 

With that, Dolohov turned his back and Draco knew he was being dismissed. “I won’t,” he assured before leaving. 

He checked his watch. It was nearly eleven, giving him less than six hours to review the file, memorize his routes, and create a psychological profile of his target. There was no time to waste. He hurried to his bedroom and locked the door. He sat down at his desk and opened up the file before him. 

All the air rushed from his lungs and his blood pounded in his ears as he read the name of his next kill: 

_ Hermione Jean Granger _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco carries out his mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, alpha/beta love goes to biscuitsforpotter and disenchantedglow! They let me bug them all the time with crazy musings and tiny details. Y'all are great people. 
> 
> The world is a scary place these days. I appreciate you taking the time to read this and I hope you're all staying safe and healthy. Be kind to one another and to yourself. Social distancing is so important and a perfect time to read all the fics and leave your authors some love! Stay healthy! Wash your hands!

Name _ : Hermione Jean Granger _

Blood status _ : Mudblood _

D.O.B _ : 19/09/79 (Age: 19 yrs, 11 mos) _

Wand _ : Dragon heartstring, vine wood  _

Known affiliations _ :  _

_ -Member of the Order of the Phoenix _

_ -Friend of Harry Potter _

_ -Founding member of Dumbledore’s Army _

Profession _ : Healer - St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries - Fourth Floor _

Parents _ : David and Jean Granger - Location: Unknown _

Identifying marks/scars _ : ‘Mudblood’ scar on left forearm. Long scar on torso. _

Draco read the detailed file on Hermione Granger. Page after page, he pored over the details of her life told by someone who had clearly never met the witch. He had read several files like this one. Reduced to these simple, clinical facts, it was easy to think of his targets as just that: a file full of information. 

But Granger was not just a file. She was a person. A person he knew. A person with whom he had gone to school for six years. 

Draco had never killed anyone he knew. It was quite easy to dissociate from the task when they were just names in a file who sometimes shouted for help before their death. 

He thought of Granger. An annoying, swotty know-it-all in school, she’d been a thorn in his side since first year. Always getting better marks in classes and hanging around with Potter and Weasley. He remembered the over-eager way she used to raise her hand when a professor would ask a question, flailing it in the air like she could barely contain the answer. He grimaced at the memory. 

With a chill, he recalled the day she’d been tortured in this very house. He had heard many screams in his life, but few haunted him the way Granger’s had. There was just something about a woman’s screams that always pierced him to his soul. 

He wondered what she was like now. A Healer, apparently, and a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Did she ever have nightmares about her torture? Had the war crushed her fiery spirit like it had for so many others? What had she done to earn this fate? Did she know how much danger she was in? That her hours were numbered? 

He shook his head. He couldn’t think of her like that. She was his target now. A file. A mission, nothing more. Draco turned the page to find a map of London, which highlighted her typical route from St. Mungo’s to her apparation point. He studied the page for several moments, memorizing her route as well as any potential alternates she may take. 

St. Mungo’s was located on the corner of Virginia and Columbia Roads. The highlighted route had Granger turning east along Columbia Road and then taking a right onto Chambord Street to take a left into the alley for apparation. However, it wouldn’t take her much longer to turn south on Virginia to Chambord and then take a right into the alley. That course would take her past a small garden. Granger seemed like the type that would like to walk past a garden. 

A knock on the door made him jump slightly. 

“Draco, dear,” his mother called softly. “It’s me.” 

Draco closed the file and unlocked the door with a flick of his wand. 

Narcissa walked in, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Her pale eyes surveyed him carefully, dragging over his disheveled hair, his unshaven face, the thick file on the desk before him. She frowned. “Surely he doesn’t expect you to—” 

“Mother… “ he sighed, exasperated. 

“Who is it this time? Another Ministry official just doing his job?” She sank into the chair next to him, eyeing the file with curiosity. 

He placed a hand over the paperwork, pushing it across the desk out of reach of her prying eyes. “No,” he answered simply. “Not this time.” 

His stomach twisted painfully. Dolohov really had asked too much of him today. It was too soon, yes, but more importantly, it was too personal. Though he cared nothing for Granger—and really didn’t care whether she died today or not—he shouldn’t be the one to do it. Draco grimaced, and his mother saw. 

“What is it?” she breathed, lifting her hand to his cheek. 

He sighed. “It’s… someone I went to school with.” 

Narcissa’s eyes widened slightly. Perhaps it was the thought of her only son taking yet another life, or perhaps it was the idea of someone so young, her own child’s age, having their life snuffed out, but Narcissa seemed to almost break at Draco's words. “A friend?” 

Draco shook his head slightly. “Not at all, but she’s still someone I knew.” 

“My poor dragon,” his mother cooed gently. Draco’s heart fluttered. She hadn’t called him that since he was quite young. He’d always loved the nickname, but now it just made him feel small. Like a child clinging to his mother for protection. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” she pleaded in a whisper. 

Draco winced. Why did his victims need to beg? His mother had begged for their lives over the past few months enough for all of them. “Yes, I do. Now, please Mother, I don’t have much time and I need to prepare.” 

Narcissa stood, her eyes swimming with tears. “If I weren’t here and you didn’t have to worry about me, would you still do this?” 

Draco didn’t reply, but he didn’t need to. They both knew the answer. 

No. He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t even consider it. 

His mother made a thoughtful little noise before bending to kiss the top of his head. She turned and left the room. 

New burdens weighing heavily atop the ones he already carried, Draco opened the file again. This time he turned to the page regarding Granger’s personal relationships. He read a detailed account of failed a mission, the objective of which was to find, torture, and kill her parents. But the Granger home in Kensington had been abandoned before the start of the war. There was no trace of them whatsoever. Curious. 

Draco turned the page.  _ Suspected romantic entanglements. _ He doubted this information would be useful, but he skimmed the page all the same. Dolohov had taught him that a good agent never knew what details would be useful in the field. Perhaps he could trick her by disguising himself as someone she trusted. 

No, no luck there. He would need Polyjuice for that, and there was no time to procure a hair from… he skimmed the page… Ronald Weasley. 

Draco grimaced again. He would rather fail his mission than have to turn into a Weasley. 

He read the vague account of someone having witnessed Granger and Weasley holding hands. It sounded like hearsay to Draco, but he had always assumed that the two of them would pair up eventually. Beneath Weasley’s paragraph was a brief statement of her involvement with Krum during her fourth year. Draco nearly laughed. He’d always wondered why Viktor Krum had decided to slum it with the Mudblood. Maybe she knew how to put her know-it-all mouth to good use. No, couldn’t be. She was surely too much of a prude for anything like that. 

Turning the page again, he read as much as he could about her career at St. Mungo’s. She was admitted into the training program despite having not completed her N.E.W.T year. No doubt her connections with Shacklebolt helped her there. Top of her class in the training program. No great surprise. Now she was a full-fledged Healer with a concentration in spell and potion damage. 

Draco’s stomach grumbled. It was well after noon. Perhaps he had time for a quick bite and a short break. He closed the dossier and placed it in the top drawer of his desk, shutting and locking it with a quick spell. 

The dining room was scattered with Death Eaters sitting at various tables, some speaking in low voices, some reviewing files alone, and some laughing uproariously over a crass joke. 

Draco spotted Pansy and Theo at a far table and made his way over to them. As he sat down, a house elf popped up next to him and presented him with today’s lunch, a bowl of steaming hot beef and vegetable stew. The elf disappeared with a crack and Draco picked up his spoon. 

“Where have you been today?” Theo asked, his brown eyes taking in Draco’s disheveled appearance. 

“Working,” Draco grumbled. 

“I thought you had a mission yesterday,” remarked Pansy with a sniff. 

“I did. Apparently McNair’s mission this morning went tits up, and it had something to do with…” he trailed off. He mustn’t reveal the name of his target. His work was always strictly classified. He cleared his throat. “...my next target. I have to clean up his mess.” 

“Well, you look like hell, mate.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Theo.” 

“Are you alright?” Theo asked with concern. 

“Yeah… It’s just… The target is someone I used to know.”

“Who is it?” Pansy asked, her eyes glistening with the promise of a juicy secret. 

Draco scowled at her. “You know I can’t say, Pansy.”

Pansy pouted, skewering a carrot with her fork. 

“What are you going to do?” asked Theo. 

“What do you mean? He’s going to do his damn job!” Pansy insisted. She looked to Draco for confirmation. 

He hesitated briefly and she balked. “Draco, it’s a Mudblood, right? Or at least a Mudblood lover? Your targets almost always are.” 

Draco cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. After everything he had seen, the issue of blood didn’t carry much weight for him anymore. He knew—as he always had—that being a pureblood was his birthright, but when it came to matters of life and death, Pureblood, Halfblood, Mudblood, it didn’t matter. It seemed like a trivial issue in the grand scheme of things these days. “Yes,” he confirmed. “It’s a Mudblood.” 

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Then what’s the problem? Just do it. What’s one less Mudblood in the world?” 

Theo was frowning at his stew. “I think you should think about it,” he said, finally looking up into Draco’s eyes. “I mean, it’s someone you’ve met. That’s different than killing some random person, at least I think it would be for me.” 

Draco considered this. It felt different to him too. A person he knew, even if she was someone he had once hated, would be much harder to murder than someone he had never met. He recalled his very first assignment as a Death Eater, and how naive he had been. Albus Dumbledore at the end of his wand, completely at his mercy. But when the moment came, Draco had been unable to say the words. Would his failure repeat itself today? No. He was no longer that cowardly boy. Months of training had turned him into something else entirely. There was no doubt in his mind. When the moment came, he would do what must be done. 

His mother entered the room. She bent slightly to deliver orders to a passing elf before leaving again, her blonde hair disappearing around the corner. “I don’t have a choice,” he said adamantly. He took a few more bites of his stew, the hunger in his stomach finally subsiding. 

“When do you go?” Pansy asked. 

Draco checked his watch. Nearly two o’clock. “In just a couple of hours. I’d better get back to work.” He took two more bites of his lunch before standing up. “I’ll see you two later.” 

He read every detail of Granger’s file over the next hour and a half. The following thirty minutes were spent getting dressed and ready. His uniform was simple: black dragonhide boots, black trousers, and a black jumper. Nothing ostentatious or flashy. Nothing that would draw attention to him in Muggle London. Nothing that would raise suspicions. 

He thought of the ostentatious depictions of assassins he had read in books and smirked. Why would an assassin wear a long cloak with a menacing hood? No, it was much better to blend in. People were suspicious of those who wore things like hoods and cloaks. Not that Draco never wore a hood, but he reserved those for stalking his prey at night. 

As he passed through the foyer on his way out of the Manor, he spotted his mother. He gave her a reassuring smile, ignoring the tears in her eyes. 

Walking through the front doors and down the path to the gates, he made it beyond the boundaries and apparated to London. 

* * *

Hermione Granger was nothing if not prompt. From his vantage point at the cafe across the street, he saw her exit the muggle entrance to St. Mungo’s at precisely five o’clock. Dressed in a black skirt, heels, and a red cardigan, she was the picture of a Gryffindor witch in the professional world. Her unruly curls had been pulled back into a thick plait. He thought of the last time he had seen her at the Battle of Hogwarts. She’d been wild, bloodied, and war torn. The difference was shocking. Despite the war raging on, she’d taken the time to plait her hair and dress the part of a typical Healer. Meanwhile, Draco hadn’t even bothered to shave today. 

He stood from his table at the cafe and followed her from a safe distance. She was taking the long way: the one which would lead them by the garden. When she walked past it she slowed down, her brown eyes drifting over the flowers. A young couple was in the garden, their two small children running and playing. Laughter danced through the air. Draco shivered. Granger smiled. 

He continued to follow her down a small residential street, slowly closing the gap between them. Glancing around for witnesses, Draco quickly cast a disillusionment charm on himself. The apparation point was close. He would have to do it while she was in the alley and away from public view, but before she apparated. It was a narrow window. He quickened his steps. 

How did she walk so quickly in those heels? He had to be careful to keep his steps quiet as he hurried to catch up with her. Just a few meters away now. Granger rounded the corner into the alley and he was just a few steps behind. Peering around the corner, he saw that her back was facing him. Squaring off for his attack, he moved into the entrance of the alley. As he went, his boot caught a small rock and sent it skittering across the pavement. 

Draco stood frozen at the entrance to the alley as Granger turned, her eyes darting to the rock as it hit the wall of a building with a clack. She looked at the mouth of the alley, searching for the source of the stone’s movement. He didn’t dare breathe as she stared right through him. The disillusionment charm would help, but if he moved she would surely see the glimmer of his outline. 

Silence stretched between them. He gripped his wand. This was his chance.  _ Do it now. Before she disapparates.  _

For a brief moment, she appeared to look right at him, her eyes meeting his. Draco’s heart pounded and he hesitated. Could she see him? No. She didn’t seem quite focused on him.

Her eyes were wide and bright as she tried to evaluate the threat she felt. He blinked, trying to remember if he had ever truly looked Hermione Granger in the eye until this moment. He had. Just once. He recalled a battered, tortured girl on the floor of his drawing room. Crying and whimpering, she had turned her head in his direction, her eyes boring into his with a silent plea for help. A silent plea to help her stay alive.

A gust of wind swept through the passage, freeing sections of frizzy hair from its plait and whipping them around her face. She squinted against the gust and brought one hand up to brush the strands out of her eyes, still on high alert. One small strand had become stuck to her lips, and he watched as she pulled it free. Her dark pink lips parted slightly as the hair dragged through her lipstick. His grip on his wand loosened slightly and in that brief moment of hesitation, Granger disapparated with a crack. 

_ Fuck.  _

She was gone. 

He had failed. 

_ Fuck.  _

Taking long strides down the alley to where she had disappeared, he looked around for any traces of her, but he knew it was no use. She’d returned to the Order safe houses. He couldn’t reach her now. Granger would live to see another day. 

He dragged his hands through his hair. Dolohov was going to be livid. Granger needed to die for some reason—probably due to McNair’s stupidity. Draco had never failed a mission before. What would Dolohov do to him? To his mother? 

His heart raced at the thought of that terrible man raising his wand to one of the only people he cared about. 

There was no point in dragging it out. Draco had failed and there was no fixing it now. He turned on the spot and apparated back to the Manor. 

* * *

Draco looked for his mother as he made his way toward the parlour. Perhaps he could tell her to run. Barricade herself in her chambers until all of this had blown over. She was nowhere to be found and he didn’t have time to look for her. It was nearing six now and Dolohov needed his report. 

Dolohov stood by the window as Draco entered. He turned his manic eyes on the blonde and smiled. “Ah, Malfoy. It is done, I trust?” 

Draco shifted his weight between his feet and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, my Lord. She got away.” 

The wizard’s eyes grew dark with rage and disbelief. “What do you mean ‘she got away’?” he hissed. 

“I did not have the opportunity, sir. Perhaps tomorrow I can—” 

“Tomorrow she will have…” He cut himself off and took three steps to stand menacingly in front of Draco. “I needed this done  _ today _ , Malfoy. Not tomorrow.”

Though every self-preserving instinct inside him told him to run, Draco didn’t dare step back. “I know, my Lord. I apologize.” 

Dolohov sneered. “Oh, you  _ apologize. _ I couldn’t give a shite about your apologies, Malfoy. I don’t need excuses. I need Hermione Granger dead today!” He was shouting now, and it took everything Draco had not to wince or look away. 

Draco stood very still and silent. If Dolohov needed to shout at him, so be it. He could handle that. After all, he deserved it. He  _ had _ failed. 

He let the words wash over him, tuning many of them out, but catching pieces here and there. “I didn’t train you for six months to be a failure when it matters most… Disgrace to the organization… See what your mother has to say about all of this.” 

Draco blinked, his blood running cold.  _ No.  _

Dolohov was already stalking out of the parlour and toward the grand staircase. Draco hurried after him. “No, sir,” he pleaded. “It isn’t her fault. The fault is mine, my Lord. Punish me, please.” 

His requests fell on deaf ears. With a snap of Dolohov’s fingers, Rowle and Mulciber came forward and restrained Draco’s arms. He struggled to break free, to reach his wand and tear the two goons limb from limb, but it was no use. His wand was wrenched from his pocket and his arms twisted painfully behind his back. 

Dolohov burst through the door to Narcissa’s room. The bright sunset cast the bedroom with a bright orange glow and Draco squinted against it. He looked frantically around the chamber for his mother but did not see her. The bed was made up and her wardrobe door stood ajar, revealing its lack of clothing within. A few drawers were open, their contents also missing.

Dolohov ran to the bathroom and wrenched the door open. Empty as well. Narcissa was gone. “Search the house. No one leaves without my permission,” he barked, pointing a knobby finger at Rowle. “You,” he glared at Mulciber, the one who had taken Draco’s wand. “Don’t let him out of your sight.” 

Rowle ran off, shouting orders at others to barricade the exits and search each room. 

Draco didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. His mother was gone. She’d run away. Taken control of her own destiny at last. He wondered where she’d gone. Was she safe? Did she ever intend to return? 

His heart twisted like a vice. She hadn’t said goodbye and he may never see her again. 

He shook his grief away. It was better this way. She was no longer under Dolohov’s thumb. She was free, and they couldn’t use her as a weapon against Draco anymore. He thought back to his conversation with her this morning. 

_ If I weren’t here and you didn’t have to worry about me, would you still do this? _

She’d probably made up her mind at that moment. While he was planning his assassination of Granger, she’d been planning her escape from the Manor. At least one of their tasks had been successful that day. He smiled in spite of himself. 

Dolohov’s eyes were nearly black with rage as he came to stand before Draco. “Where is she?” 

Draco stared back at the man defiantly. “I don’t know. And even if I did, I would never tell you.” 

In a flash, Dolohov had whipped out his wand and trained it on Draco. “ _ Crucio _ ,” he spat. 

Pain erupted in every fibre of Draco’s body and he screamed out, falling to his knees in agony, but he didn’t care. His mother was safe. 

By the time Dolohov lifted the curse, Draco’s throat burned from screaming and sweat dripped from his forehead. He stayed on his hands and knees for a moment, gasping for air. 

“No sign of her, my lord,” a Death Eater announced. 

Dolohov shouted with rage. “Keep looking. And search the grounds.” 

Hurried footsteps departed. 

“Give him his wand back,” Dolohov hissed. 

His wand landed next to him with a clatter and he looked up in surprise. 

“You’re lucky we still need you.” Dolohov kneeled before Draco, his grotesque face mere inches away. He spoke slowly and patronizingly, as if to a child. “Tomorrow you’re to go back and finish the job, or you’ll find we don’t need your mummy around to encourage you.” 

With that, Dolohov swept from the room, shouting orders at his many followers as he made his way back down stairs. Mulciber followed him out like an obedient dog. 

Draco listened to them go. He could still feel the effects of the  _ Cruciatus  _ curse rushing through his body. Picking up his wand, he pushed himself to his feet with a groan. Draco staggered out of his mother’s room and down the hall to his own chambers. 

Once inside, he locked the door, placing as many wards on it as he could think of to prevent Dolohov from coming back for more torture. He threw himself onto the bed. The sheets made a soft crackling noise beneath him. 

Draco lifted his head in confusion. Egyptian cotton sheets did not crackle. He pulled the covers back, revealing a small envelope hidden there. With trembling fingers, he picked it up and read the word written on the front of it.

_ Draco _

His heart swooped. He would recognize his mother’s elegant script anywhere. He ripped the flap open and pulled the letter from within, reading what could be his mother’s last words to him. 

_ My dearest dragon,  _

_ I cannot stand this life anymore. I can no longer allow these wretched men to use me against you. You must choose your own path in this war, and I know that my presence here will always leave you trapped. I am leaving so that you can be free.  _

_ I will not say where I am going, lest this letter fall into the wrong hands, but rest assured that I will be perfectly safe. I plan to go far from this place, where the war cannot reach. You needn’t worry about me anymore. When the war is over I will return and find you.  _

_ Please consider your actions carefully. You are a better man than what they have turned you into. Be the man I raised you to be. Forge your own path in this war. You have been trapped by the mistakes of your parents for far too long. I know you will make the right choice.  _

_ Be safe. Stay strong. Trust your instincts.  _

_ Never doubt my love for you.  _

_ Your Mother _

Draco read the letter twice before folding it carefully and placing it in his pocket. 

She was safe. He could rest easily tonight knowing that his mother was far away from this dreadful place. 

But tomorrow… tomorrow he would have to go back to London, to that breezy alley and he would have to finish the job. Hermione Granger would have to take her last breath, or else Draco would take his. 

His stomach twisted at the thought. Why had he hesitated? He’d been so ready… so poised to attack. Perhaps he’d been distracted by the normality of her actions and her sheer  _ humanness _ .

He pondered his mother’s words.  _ Consider your actions carefully. Be the man I raised you to be. _

Narcissa Malfoy hated Draco’s job in this new organization of Death Eaters. She had hated it since the day Draco had taken the mark, but it had only grown worse when Dolohov had taken Draco under his wing to train him. She had pleaded with the High Minister many times to try to prevent it, but all it had earned her was a few painful moments at the end of his wand. 

His mother wanted him to leave, that much was clear. Could he leave? He was an assassin. Surely he could not just live a simple, neutral life. The Death Eaters would hunt him for desertion, the Ministry would hunt him for his assassinations. That just left… 

_ The Order.  _

Their headquarters and safe houses were extremely well guarded secrets. No Death Eater had ever been able to discover the location of any of them. He could not just walk up to Order headquarters and knock on the door to ask for asylum. Even if he knew the location and could get past the wards, he would probably be killed on sight. 

Shacklebolt. 

He was Minister of Magic now, as well as the leader of the Order of the Phoenix. If Draco could just get a brief audience with him, perhaps he could persuade the Minister to grant him clemency for his past crimes in exchange for information about Dolohov and the Death Eaters. 

It was worth a shot. Perhaps he would be imprisoned. A cell next to his father’s might not be so bad. At least he would be free of Dolohov in Azkaban. 

He had to try. 

With a flick of his wand, a rucksack flew from his closet and landed on the bed. Another flick sent clothes soaring from drawers and hangers. They folded themselves and landed in the bag, perfectly packed. He went through his desk, taking every parchment or paper that might be useful, including Granger’s file. He added them to the bag before heading for his washroom. He took a few essentials and tossed them in as well. 

The clock ticked closer to eight in the evening. Outside his door, he could still hear quite a lot of commotion caused by his mother’s sudden departure. He wondered how much more chaos would descend upon the house after he left. At any rate, it was far too risky to try to leave now. He would have to wait until the heavy cover of darkness. 

Draco waited for several hours, the incessant shaking of his right leg rattling the desk at which he sat. His packed rucksack was disillusioned and hidden under his bed in case he had any visitors. He filled his time by rereading Granger’s file and flipping through a few old Quidditch magazines, though he didn’t really retain much information. 

At last the house was quiet. Everyone must have finally given up the search and gone to bed. He checked the clock. Two in the morning seemed like a perfectly acceptable time for an escape. Grabbing his wand and his rucksack, he took one last look around his bedroom. His heart twisting, he walked to the closet and reached up to the highest shelf. Feeling around for a moment, his fingers finally closed around what he’d been looking for and pulled it down. A gift from his parents long ago, a dusty, well-worn, stuffed green dragon. He hesitated, but ultimately added it to his bag before venturing out into the dark manor. 

As he walked through the grand hallways of the home he had once loved so much, he couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever come back. He looked out the window to the back garden where he had learned to fly a broom and passed the dining room where he had had so many dinners with his parents, now a mess hall for hundreds of Death Eaters. The beautiful parlour where they had spent every Christmas morning, now the office for the High Minister. 

It wasn’t his home anymore. Just a building holding the ghosts of memories and things that could never be again. Draco walked through the foyer and out into the cool night air. 

No one stopped him as he made his way to the gates. They opened for him as he approached and he walked through. He turned, sparing one final glance at the imposing manor before he apparated away. 

* * *

Draco had never used the visitor’s entrance of the Ministry of Magic before. His heart pounded anxiously and he considered his words carefully when the pleasant voice asked him what his business there was. 

What was his business there? Breaking into the Minister of Magic’s office seemed like a foolish thing to tell the automated system. Perhaps there were guards in the Ministry after hours who would arrest him if his badge said anything suspicious. Perhaps he would be arrested no matter what his badge said. 

For a wild moment, he considered that this might be a horrible mistake. That he might be better off simply running away and taking his chances in the wild. With a bracing breath, he shook the doubts from his mind. Anywhere was better than where he’d come from. 

He spoke his name and purpose and a little badge fell into the coin return and he took it. 

_ Draco Malfoy _

_ Surrendering _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Monday  
> Next chapter: March 23rd
> 
> Follow me on tumblr: graceful-lioness  
> I love getting asks. Plus I sometimes post little sneak peeks!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finds himself at the mercy of the Order of the Phoenix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, alpha and beta love goes to BiscuitsForPotter and DisenchantedGlow. 
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who has read, left kudos, and commented! I read every comment even if I'm terrible about replying to them! Thank you all! 
> 
> Here's a nice long chapter for you all. I hope you enjoy it!

It was quite eerie being inside the Ministry so late at night. Though he hadn’t been here in many years, he still recalled the hustle of the Ministry atrium during business hours. Now, the only sound was the echo of his boots on the marble floors. 

He made his way to the offices. The Minister’s door was heavily warded, but after thirty minutes of careful spell work, the door swung open and Draco slipped inside. He set down his rucksack and sank into the Minister’s desk chair. He propped his feet up on the wooden surface and leaned back. 

Exhaustion swept over him all at once, making his limbs heavy. He sighed, the events of the day finally catching up with him. It would be several hours before Shacklebolt arrived to start his day, and Draco could feel his eyes growing heavy. Perhaps a brief nap… 

A click of keys in the lock and the murmuring of charms beyond the door had Draco waking up with a start. He stood from the chair and raised his hands in surrender. 

Kingsley Shacklebolt was a tall man. His bright blue robes and imposing figure caught Draco’s attention first as the door opened. 

When Shacklebolt spotted Draco he reacted so quickly that Draco barely had time to flinch before he was magically bound. His hands sprang together, connected at the wrist by invisible bonds. His wand flew from his pocket and into the Minister’s free hand. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” Shacklebolt demanded darkly. 

“My name is Draco Malfoy. I’m here to turn myself in.” 

* * *

Draco’s arse was asleep. This was easily the most uncomfortable chair he had ever sat upon, and he had been sitting in it for—he checked his watch and sighed—four hours. 

Four hours since the Minister of Magic himself had taken him into custody. He had been escorted by two Aurors down narrow corridors to this small interrogation room. He had then been forced to wait for an hour, only to be questioned for another hour. Draco had been nothing but honest with them. He told them what he was, what he had done, and what he wanted: Immunity for his crimes in exchange for everything he knew about the Death Eater organization.

Shacklebolt and the Aurors had left after the interrogation to deliberate amongst themselves. That was two hours ago. How long would they make him wait here? Perhaps this chair was a unique form of torture. Maybe they thought if they left him here long enough he would tell them everything he knew without his immunity deal. 

Draco's magically reinforced shackles slid across the metal table as he leaned back in search of a more comfortable position. Pain shot down his spine and he grimaced. He had made every effort to be calm and respectful throughout the Minister’s questions, but he could feel his mood souring by the minute. Why was it so bloody hot in here? Beads of sweat were rolling down his back under his jumper. His mouth was horribly dry, and he was sure he would  _ kill  _ for a glass of water. 

The door opened abruptly and the Minister entered the holding cell along with one of the Aurors from earlier. Shacklebolt sat down across from him and the Auror stood by the door, merely observing for now. 

“This is John Dawlish. He is an Auror, as well as a member of the Order of the Phoenix,” said the Minister. 

Draco said nothing. He didn’t particularly care who the man was. All he wanted to know was if they were going to take his offer or throw him in Azkaban. 

Shacklebolt leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “He is here to help me with the negotiations regarding the stipulations of your immunity.” 

Draco blinked. “So you will be taking my deal, Minister?” 

“Yes,” said Shacklebolt with a nod. “But we have conditions of our own that you must accept.”

“Conditions,” Draco repeated cautiously. 

“In addition to the information you can offer us on Dolohov and all of his operatives, you will also tell us how to gain access to Malfoy Manor. Furthermore, we cannot offer you sanctuary without asking for anything in return. If you wish to benefit from the protection of the Order, you must work with the Order.” 

Draco balked. “You want me to join the Order?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

The Minister sat back, his dark eyes sweeping over Draco’s face. “You have obviously become disenchanted with the Death Eaters for one reason or another. Anyone who is against them is worth having as an ally as far as I am concerned. You clearly have some skills in stealth. How you managed to break into my office without detection is concerning, but I’ll admit it is also very impressive.” 

“So I’m in the Order, just like that?” 

Dawlish scoffed and Shacklebolt shook his head. “Not exactly. If you accept this deal and join us you will undergo serious vetting. Veritaserum will be required to ensure that you are not a spy. There will also be a probationary period, during which you will remain supervised on the job at all times. This probation will remain in effect until you have proven your trustworthiness.” 

Draco considered the terms for a moment. They seemed perfectly reasonable to him, but he hadn’t really imagined himself actually joining the Order. He had thought that perhaps they would offer him asylum from the Death Eaters, or perhaps help him leave the country after a time. 

“Do you accept these terms?” The Minister asked, his eyes boring into Draco’s intently. 

Heart pounding, palms sweating, Draco felt himself nod. “I accept,” he said steadily. Sick as he felt, his instincts told him that this was the right choice. He was sure of it. 

A hint of a smile flickered over Shacklebolt’s lips. With a wave of his wand, Draco’s chains disappeared. Draco rubbed his sore wrists. He still couldn’t believe his luck. He was not going to be arrested. A contract appeared before him along with a quill. Draco read it in detail. It laid out all of Draco’s terms as well as the Order’s. It was fairly cut and dry and Draco had no qualms whatsoever in signing his name on the line at the bottom of the page. 

He returned the contract to Shacklebolt and was handed a small phial in return. Inside were a few drops of clear liquid. “Veritaserum,” the Minister announced. Draco unstoppered it and downed it. It was tasteless, luckily, and he soon felt his inhibitions lowering. 

Shacklebolt and Dawlish interrogated him for several minutes, asking him a variety of questions about when and how he joined the Death Eaters, what he had done for Dolohov, and what his motivations were for defecting. The potion was strong, and Draco answered truthfully and willingly. But, luckily, the potion did not force Draco to reveal everything in some violent stream of consciousness. Some things remained tucked away, just beyond the reach of the Veritaserum. 

As an Occlumens, Draco was able to omit certain details from his rehashing of his past misdeeds, which certainly did not count as  _ lying _ . It was more like… a self-preservation strategy. When he spoke of his life as an assassin, he deliberately manipulated his speech so as not to mention his very last mission. It would be very unwise to bring up how close he had come to killing one of their own; especially if he was required to now work with the Order. He didn’t need any additional suspicion following him around.

When their questions had been answered and Draco could feel the potion’s effects beginning to wane, Shacklebolt held out his hand. Draco, still a bit stunned, shook it. “Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Mr. Malfoy.” 

* * *

Shacklebolt and Dawlish took Draco’s statement in great depth, a Quick Notes Quill scribbling away throughout the interview. Draco spared no detail in telling them how to get past the wards of Malfoy Manor. He told them how many Death Eaters to expect once they were inside. He explained the hierarchy within the organization and did his best to describe each person’s primary job. That part had been the most difficult, as he hadn't been involved in all of the small details of Dolohov's planning. Most of that information had, in fact, been highly classified. 

When the two men were satisfied, they turned to each other, exchanging a few hushed words before they left Draco once more. Without his chains, Draco was free to move about the room. He stood up from the heavy metal chair with a relieved groan. He stretched his arms high over his head and was rewarded with a small pop along his spine. With a relieved sigh, he began to pace around the room. 

Draco was left alone for another three hours.  _ Three… fucking… hours.  _ What was the meaning of this egregious wait? Couldn’t they have moved him to a more comfortable room? Or at least offered him a meal. His stomach grumbled longingly at the thought of food. Opting for a different approach, he sat back down at the table and crossed his arms on the table. He laid his head on his arms to attempt some much needed sleep, but it was no use. The chair was hard and the metal table was cold and unforgiving. Though his mood was souring by the minute, he resigned himself to the fact that he would just have to wait. 

At last, Dawlish returned. He had Draco’s rucksack with him and placed it on the table. No doubt it had been thoroughly searched and checked for curses. Draco tried not to think about the Minister of Magic and leader of the Order discovering his beloved childhood stuffed dragon. 

Dawlish beckoned for him to follow and Draco picked up his bag. As they exited the interrogation room, Draco saw two Death Eaters being escorted by a small group of Aurors. 

As they passed, Augustus Rookwood and Rabastan Lestrange turned and saw him. They jeered at him, shouting and fighting against their magical bonds. “Traitor filth!” “Disgrace to your house!” 

Draco let their abuse wash over him as the Aurors pushed them roughly into separate interrogation rooms. “Quiet, scum,” one of the Aurors growled before the door shut behind them. 

Draco turned to Dawlish, whose face betrayed a mixture of exhaustion and disgust. “We were too late, you know. Seems word of your desertion caused something of a stir. The Manor was mostly abandoned when we arrived, but we caught those two cleaning up the last of the files and information left behind,” the Auror explained. Dawlish waved his hand for Draco to follow him. 

Emptied? Already? The Manor had been Death Eater headquarters for so long. Since before Voldemort's death even. How had they managed to pack up and leave so quickly? Draco inwardly grimaced. Dolohov would surely be out for his blood now. That much was clear by the way Rookwood and Lestrange had spat at him.

But he didn’t want to think about that. He was safe. For now. 

Pulling himself out of his own thoughts, Draco made his way along the dark Ministry corridors just behind Dawlish. They passed a few Ministry workers, and though Draco expected to get odd looks or glares from them, most just kept their eyes forward or on paperwork they carried. After a while of walking, it became apparent where they were going: back to Shacklebolt’s office. Once inside, the Auror lit the fire. 

“Where are we going?” asked Draco. 

“Headquarters,” Dawlish answered gruffly. 

Draco’s stomach flipped and he wondered why he was suddenly so nervous. He swallowed thickly. 

Dawlish reached over and picked up a piece of paper from the minister’s desk. He handed it to Draco. “Read this. Focus on the words.” 

_ The Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix can be found at 108 Park Lane, London.  _

Draco read the words three times, trying to memorize the address. As he focused on the words, the fire glowed, not the typical green of floo travel, but a bright, blinding blue. Draco stumbled back at the sudden blaze, but Dawlish pushed him forward. “In you go, lad.” 

Wondering why Floo powder wasn’t necessary, and slightly concerned that he was about to be burned alive, Draco shuffled forward into the flames. With the familiar tug of apparation, Draco was whisked away. 

His feet landed hard, not in a fireplace, but on the front steps of an enormous townhome across from Hyde Park. Dawlish landed next to him mere seconds later and knocked twice. 

The door swung open to reveal a grand entryway and the Auror pushed him forward into the house. Draco took in the sights and sounds of the house. It was quiet, but signs of life were evident everywhere. Nearly all of the lights in the passing rooms were on. Books sat on coffee tables, some open, some closed with bookmarks. A throw pillow lay forgotten on the floor near a chair and half finished cups of tea sat on the end tables without saucers or coasters.  _ Slobs, _ Draco thought with a sniff _. _

A sudden outcry of dozens of muffled voices made Draco jump. Ahead of them was a set of double doors. “Meeting’s already started,” Dawlish mumbled. “Drop your bag on the stairs. You can take it to your room later.” 

Draco did as he was told. As they approached the door, he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He still hadn’t eliminated the possibility of being murdered today. 

Dawlish opened the double doors and ushered Draco inside. 

The grand dining room contained a large table, which seated at least twenty Order members. Along the walls were perhaps twenty or thirty more chairs, and all but two were occupied. 

Forty sets of eyes swiveled to him and widened. His mouth went dry as he recognized a great number of them. Draco struggled to swallow as he realized with a horrible twist in his stomach that practically every person he had ever taunted at Hogwarts was here in this room. Several of their jaws dropped upon seeing him. His hand twitched toward his pocket to grab hold of his wand for protection before he remembered that Shacklebolt still had it.

Dawlish grabbed Draco by the elbow and pulled him toward the front of the room through the throng of people sitting in the back. Waiting there was Shacklebolt; next to him, along the wall, stood the two empty chairs. Draco sank into one of them and looked around the room. Harry Potter sat at the table in the chair next to Shacklebolt’s.  _ The Minister’s right-hand man, _ Draco thought bitterly. Also at the table were a variety of Weasleys, Fleur Delacour, Minerva McGonagall, Lee Jordan, several witches and wizards that Draco did not recognize, and, lastly, Hermione Granger. She was dressed similarly to how she had been yesterday. She had swapped her cardigan for a crisp, white blouse. Her hair was pulled back into a slick ponytail, her unruly curls cascading down the back of her neck. Did she always dress like she was interviewing for the world’s most boring job? Everyone else here was dressed much more casually. The witch really needed to learn how to relax. 

Sitting along the wall were a few more Weasleys, some of his old Hogwarts professors, and many of his ex-classmates. They all stared at him, some with shock, some with curiosity, and a few with unmistakable rage. 

“What the fuck is  _ he  _ doing here?” Dean Thomas blurted out, breaking the silence. 

A few others piped up then, all voicing their concern over Draco’s presence. Shacklebolt had to pound his hand on the table to regain order in the room. “He is here as an informant. Draco Malfoy has defected from the Death Eaters. Following a probationary period, he will join the Order as one of our own.” 

There was a brief moment of stunned silence before the room erupted in shouts once more. The majority of the violent dissention came from his old classmates. George Weasley and Lee Jordan were on their feet, pointing at Draco and shouting at the Minister of Magic. Draco sat silently, not daring to speak or try to defend himself. He’d been thrown into the lion’s den and he only hoped he wouldn’t be devoured. 

It appeared that the only silent person in the room was Granger. She was sitting very still in her chair, her honey eyes observing him with curiosity as if he were a puzzle she longed to piece together. Draco watched as Potter leaned over and whispered something in her ear. A smirk graced her lips for a moment and her eyes flickered away from him as she turned to her friend. She nodded, a little laugh bubbling out of her lips. 

“SILENCE!” Shacklebolt shouted, the side of his fist coming down on the table once more. “This matter is not up for debate. Malfoy has been in interrogation for several hours. During that time, he not only divulged extremely valuable information, he also did not give me any reason whatsoever to distrust him.” 

“You want a reason?” growled Seamus Finnegan from his place along the wall. “Roll up his bloody sleeve.” 

A few people jeered in agreement with Finnegan. 

“A mark which he was coerced into taking when he was only sixteen years old,” Shacklebolt said with authority. 

“How do you know that he can be trusted?” Molly Weasley asked calmly, but with concern. 

“I only have his word, but that’s the same as all of you. He has been questioned under Veritaserum and later this evening he will be placed with a probationary mentor to have his behaviour monitored until he has proven his trustworthiness,” explained the Minister. 

There was more murmuring throughout the group, but it was less angry this time. 

“What information has he given us?” asked Anthony Goldstein. 

“That’s classified,” replied Shacklebolt. 

“What did he do with the Death Eaters?” asked one of the Patil twins. Was it Padma? No, Draco was fairly sure it was Parvati. 

“Classified.” 

Draco’s heart was pounding. He was grateful to Shacklebolt. The last thing he needed was this group to know that he was an assassin. They would never trust him if they found out about that. 

“I’m sure you all have questions, and we will answer them if we can, but much of what Malfoy has told us is classified information,” said Shacklebolt. 

“What  _ can _ you tell us?” asked Ginny Weasley. 

The Minister ran a hand over his face in frustration. “I can tell you that the information Mr. Malfoy has given us may just change the tides of the war in our favour. Just an hour ago, we were able to conduct a very successful raid on Malfoy Manor. Many files were recovered, and we arrested two Death Eaters. Malfoy is a valuable asset and as long as he is cooperating and working with us, he is to be treated with civility and respect. Is that clear?” He leaned forward, placing his palms on the table, his dark eyes sweeping around the room to look at each person in turn. 

There was a smattering of half-hearted muttering of ‘Yes, sir’ and affirmative grunts. 

“Very good. Meeting dismissed. If I could have Potter, Granger, Minerva, Arthur and Bill Weasley, and Dawlish remain please.” 

There was a loud clatter of chairs scraping against the wooden floor as most of the people stood. Draco watched as they fell into conversation together, some of them making jokes, some whispering behind their hands while eyeing him suspiciously. 

Should he leave with them? Shacklebolt hadn’t told him to stay, but he also hadn’t told him where to go. Draco pushed himself to his feet and stood a bit awkwardly as the room began to clear out. 

“Hello,” came an airy voice. 

Draco looked down to his left to see Luna Lovegood staring up at him with wide, pale eyes. “Hi,” he bit out awkwardly. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said brightly. 

Draco blinked. “Really?” 

“Of course. I’m sure all those wrackspurts in your head will clear out now that you’re away from the Death Eaters,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Like he had any clue what the hell a wrackspurt was. 

He wanted to tell her to piss off. She was too batty, it was unnerving. But he wasn’t exactly in a position to be scaring off potential allies. “Right… Thanks.” He offered her a thin smile, hoping that it would be the end of their interaction. 

“Malfoy.” Draco was relieved to hear Shacklebolt’s deep voice behind him. He turned. “I have some business to finish up with a few of our members with higher clearance. Afterwards, I’ll introduce you to your probationary mentor and we can get you settled. Please wait in the parlour.” 

“Yes, sir,” he said, beginning to move toward the exit. 

“Ms. Lovegood, perhaps you can make sure Mr. Malfoy is comfortable?” 

Draco grimaced. More time with Loony Lovegood. “Of course, Kingsley,” the blonde girl chirped. “Come on, Draco.” With a wave of her hand, she led him out of the room and toward the parlour. 

Draco turned around once outside of the dining room. The seven within had pulled their chairs closer around the table and were looking at some parchments. Granger was speaking in a low voice and pointing to the papers. Draco couldn’t help but wonder what they were discussing, but before he could hear a word, the door closed with a snap. 

“You look hungry,” remarked Lovegood, her pale eyes regarding him with dreamy curiosity. 

Draco turned away from the dining room doors. Several Order members were settling in the parlour all around them. Some were disappearing up the stairs or through the Floo. Many were still shooting him disgusted looks and skirting around him with as much distance as they could manage. He tried to focus his attention solely on Lovegood. “A bit, yes,” he admitted.

“Come on,” she beckoned. “Kitchen’s this way.” 

Luna showed him into the spacious kitchen and prepared him a bowl of soup from a large pot on the stove. The two returned to the parlour and sat at a small table in plush chairs while they ate. 

Draco ate greedily. He hadn’t realized how ravenous he had been, having not eaten anything since lunch with Pansy and Theo yesterday. That seemed like ages ago now. He wondered what they were doing. Had they been surprised to hear that he’d left? Were they angry with him? 

Luna was still babbling away. He nodded every now and then to humor her, but he wasn’t sure how he was expected to actually carry on a conversation with the witch. Most of what she said was utter nonsense. 

An hour later, his bowl sat empty on the table, his eyes were heavy and he wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, and the witch next to him was  _ still _ talking. Did she know how to stop? Perhaps someone had hexed her or dosed her with a babbling potion. 

The dining room door opened and Shacklebolt emerged along with the remaining Order members. Draco stood and watched them scatter. McGonagall made a beeline for the fireplace and disappeared into the Floo without so much as a glance in his direction. Arthur and Bill Weasley disappeared into the kitchen with Dawlish. Potter and Granger hung back, their heads close together in discussion as the Minister approached Draco. 

“I apologize for the wait. I see you’ve eaten,” said Shacklebolt, eyeing the empty bowl. “Thank you, Luna. I need a word with Malfoy.” 

Luna gave him a gentle smile and disappeared up the stairs, waving her hand in goodbye to Draco. 

“I wanted to introduce you to your probationary mentor. You will work together until we have determined that you are to be trusted. I hope I can depend on you to be civil and respectful.” The Minister’s eyes were cold and daring. 

“Yes, sir,” Draco said. 

“Very good. You remember Hermione, I take it.” 

Draco’s stomach twisted painfully.  _ No. Anyone but her _ . 

“Granger,” Shacklebolt called out to her. 

She turned away from Potter, frowning as she made her way over to Draco. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floors, drawing his gaze down to her feet. He straightened his spine as she approached, determined to appear confident in front of her. 

Granger stood silently next to the Minister as he reintroduced the two. He listened as Shacklebolt detailed what his relationship with Granger would entail moving forward. He could do nothing, go nowhere without her permission or supervision. His skin prickled with irritation as her eyes swept over him with unmistakable loathing. _Why_ _did it have to be_ _Granger?_

“I have to go back to the Ministry now. Hermione, I'll trust you to get Malfoy settled in.” With a stern nod, Shacklebolt turned away from them and disappeared through the Floo. 

Draco stared at Granger and she stared right back at him. Refusing to break the silence first, he waited. Waited for her to speak, or to break eye contact, or to shuffle her feet nervously. Anything Draco could use to feel some semblance of power in this moment. 

Instead, her arm just came up between them, holding something out for him to take.  _ His wand. _ He broke eye contact with her to stare at it, bewildered. 

“Are you sure you want to give this back to me?” he asked, his eyes flickering between his wand and her face. 

Granger didn’t blink. Her eyes were steady on his, almost challenging as she said, “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?” 

He reached up, his fingers closing tentatively around the wand, waiting for her to recoil as he intentionally brushed the back of her hand. She didn’t flinch. Releasing the wand, she retracted her hand and rested it on her hip. “There’s something you should know about the wand,” she warned. “As a condition of your probation, special wards have been placed upon it. Wards that prevent it from being used against anyone in the Order. In fact, you can only use it in an emergency or when instructed to do magic directly by an Order member. And don’t try to break the wards. They’re linked to my wand, so if you try to disable them, I’ll be alerted.” 

Draco stared at his wand. It didn’t feel any different, but he felt a bit weak knowing that he would be unable to use it unless an emergency arose. Of course the Order would have to make assurances such as this. His understanding of their reasoning didn’t make him any less irritated by it. “Why don’t you just castrate me?” he grumbled. 

A pink flush spread over Granger’s cheeks.  _ Aha, a reaction at last. _

“I know it’s not ideal, but we can’t be too careful. Spies have been trying to infiltrate the Order for years,” she said, her eyes flickering away from him. 

“I’m not a bloody spy,” he growled. 

“Well, it’s like Kingsley said, once you’ve proven your trustworthiness, you’ll get the wards removed from your wand and you won’t have to answer to me anymore.” 

“As if you and your chums will ever trust me,” he scoffed. “I saw them in there. It will be a miracle if I’m not murdered in my sleep tonight.” 

“No one will harm you unless you give them a reason to,” Granger promised. 

“Oh, Merlin. I don’t have to share a room with you, do I?”

Granger’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “Of course not! Listen, I don’t like this anymore than you do. Kingsley only chose me because I was the only one in that meeting that didn’t look ready to kill you. But, if you’d prefer, I could tell him you’d rather it be someone else. I’m sure Katie Bell would love to have a conversation with you.” 

The blood drained from Draco’s face. He hadn’t even thought about running into Katie again. Had she been in the meeting? He hadn’t noticed her in there. 

“Like it or not, I might just be the closest thing you have to a friend in the Order. Please don’t give me a reason to tell Kingsley you don’t deserve to be here.” She crossed her arms across her chest, raising her chin to scowl at him. “The sooner you prove that you’re not a threat, the sooner you get out of my hair. So please don’t fuck it up and drag out your probation longer than necessary.” She turned on her heel and marched down the corridor. He heard her shoes clicking up the stairs before a door slammed. 

“Come on.” 

Draco looked over to see Potter still in the parlour. “What?” he asked. 

“Hermione’s your probationary mentor, but you’ll be bunking with me. Trust me, I hate it too.” Without further preamble, Potter set off toward the stairs. He paused at the bottom to shoot Draco an expectant look. 

Regretting his decision to join the Order already, Draco trailed after him. He retrieved his bag at the bottom of the steps and followed Potter to a large bedroom. The walls were lined with several beds and dressers. Potter closed the door behind Draco and set to work setting wards. 

“What if I have to take a piss?” Draco quipped, dropping his bag on the bed nearest to the window. 

“Ask,” Potter snapped. He turned and kicked his shoes off, not bothering to gather them as he made his way to the closest bed. 

Draco turned away from the sullen Gryffindor and changed out of his trousers and jumper. He dressed for bed and slipped between the sheets. Sinking into the pillows, he suppressed a sigh of relief. His limbs felt heavy and his eyelids began to droop almost immediately. 

The sense that he was being watched forced his eyes open again. Potter was sitting up straight in bed leaning against the headboard, his green eyes watching Draco. 

“Planning on watching me sleep all night, Potter?” he quipped. “I know I’m handsome, but it’s a bit creepy.” 

“Just because your wand won’t harm me doesn’t mean you won’t try in some other way,” Potter said darkly. 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Believe me, Potter. If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already.” 

“What a charming sentiment. Forgive me if that doesn’t put my mind at ease,” the scarred wizard droned. 

Draco groaned. Sarcasm wouldn’t allow him to sleep any sooner. He would have to be…  _ sincere.  _ He grimaced. “Listen, I left the Death Eaters because I couldn’t stomach any more senseless killing. This war may kill you yet, Potter, but it won’t be my doing. You have my word.” He rolled over and closed his eyes, knowing that green eyes would continue to watch him as he slept. 

* * *

The following morning, Draco was instructed to pack his bag and meet Granger in the parlour. She greeted him with a scowl. She was dressed much more casually today. Denims and a soft-looking jumper. Her hair was also down. It stuck out at all different angles. He wondered how it was possible for her appearance to irritate him whether she put effort into it or not. “We’ve been assigned to the Westenberg house,” she announced. 

“Just us?” he asked, noticing that they were alone. 

Hermione shook her head. “No. You won’t be assigned anywhere without at least two other people present until the end of your probation.” 

Potter emerged from the kitchen, stuffing a loaf of bread into his rucksack. Behind him was a Weasley that Draco did not recognize, and Cho Chang. They all had their hands full of bags of food and supplies. “Ready?” Cho asked Granger. She shot Draco a rather forced smile but did not approach him. 

“Charlie Weasley, pleasure to meet you.” The redhead extended his calloused hand to Draco. 

“Draco Malfoy,” he sniffed, shaking Charlie’s hand. This Weasley didn’t look like any of the others Draco had encountered. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, covered in burn scars, and didn’t look at Draco as if he were lower than a squashed flobberworm beneath his boot. 

“Let’s go. The Portkey will be leaving soon,” Potter urged. 

Granger reached into her bag and produced an old hairbrush wrapped in a cloth. She checked her watch. “Ten seconds,” she said clearly to the group. They all budged up, shoulder-to-shoulder and placed one finger on the Portkey. Draco followed suit and soon felt the familiar tug behind his navel. 

A rush of breeze around his head, a whiff of fresh highland air, and Draco landed in a wooded area. A few metres ahead of them was a simple house that had perhaps once been white, but now was grey and peeling. The glass in the window panes was warped with age, the front door was splintered and stood at an odd angle, and the fence around the garden was so rickety a pixie could take it down. This house was so dilapidated that Draco wondered how it was standing at all. Surely this home was not an adequate safehouse. 

The group trudged forward and met the feeble gate. Charlie and Cho both passed through, but when Draco attempted to follow, an invisible barrier stopped him until he felt a small hand on his shoulder. It seemed he could only gain access to Order safehouses as long as Granger was with him. The two walked through the gate together and all at once, the neglected shack didn’t look so run down anymore. 

From this side of the fence he could see a modest but stately home, two levels high. It was somewhat worn, but seemed sound enough. At least he didn’t have to worry about it caving in if he sneezed. 

Granger dropped her hand from Draco's shoulder as Potter closed the gate behind them. He followed Charlie up the stairs and onto the front porch. The ginger wizard unlocked the secure front door with his wand and swung it open to gain access into the house. 

They entered into a cozy living room with plush couches and chairs. Across from them were the kitchen and dining areas, visible through a wide arched opening. There were a few closed doors to the right and a staircase to the left. 

“Looks like the previous team has already cleared out,” Charlie noticed, turning on a few lights with a casual flick of his wand. “Let’s get settled in. There should be enough rooms for all of us.” He crossed the living room and disappeared into the main floor bedroom. 

Draco’s stomach untwisted a fraction for the first time in days. He would have his own room here! For as long as it was just the five of them he would have some privacy. Something resembling happiness—or at least relief—spread through him as he followed the others up the stairs. There were four bedrooms and another loo up here. He watched as Potter, Chang, and Granger disappeared into bedrooms one by one and Draco entered the one left over. It was rather cramped, and the bed was smaller than his bed at the Manor, but it was quiet and he didn’t have to share it with anyone. He closed the door and flopped onto the bed, enjoying the blissful feeling of being away from Potter and Granger’s watchful eyes. 

* * *

For two days Draco stayed in his room. When Granger announced meal times with a delicate knock on his door, he ignored her. There was nothing to do except wait around for missions that might not come. He supposed that he should relish the quiet days. No missions meant no danger. 

On his third night in the house, when he was sure everyone else was asleep, he crept down to the kitchen for food just as he had done for the past two nights. 

Making no noise, he padded down to the refrigerator and found some leftover stew. He poured a bit into a pot and placed it on the stove to heat. 

“You know…” 

The sudden voice made him jump a mile high. He whipped around, his useless wand trained directly between Granger’s eyes. “Don’t do that,” he snarled, his heart pounding wildly as he lowered his wand. 

Granger didn’t flinch, apparently trusting the wards on his wand to keep her safe.  _ Stupid girl, _ he thought. As if he needed his wand to end her life. 

“Ignoring everyone in the house isn’t the best way to get us to trust you,” she said, her arms crossed over her chest. He wondered how it was possible for her to look so fierce in a thin cotton robe and pale pink pajamas. 

Draco shrugged jerkily. “I figured you lot wouldn’t want me hanging around the lion’s den.” 

“I figured you would be eager to prove that you weren’t just a slithering snake,” she retorted. “Besides, Cho was a Ravenclaw, not a Gryffindor. So don’t act like you’re the only one hanging around the lion’s den, as you put it.” 

Draco said nothing, he merely stirred the stew a few times, hoping for it to boil quickly so he could escape this conversation. 

“Charlie doesn’t have any preconceived notions of who you are. His impression of you is being forged now, and you just might be botching your chance to get on his good side. He’s also one of the most popular members of the Order. Everyone likes him, and if he likes you, it can shed a kinder light on you in a lot of peoples’ eyes. You also didn’t really bully Cho in school, so she will be much kinder to you than some of our other classmates would be. And Harry and I know exactly who you are and are still willing to give you a chance. I recommend you take advantage of these quiet days with this particular group of people. Locking yourself in your room won’t make you any happier.” 

She turned and took a step toward the stairs but paused. She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes looking sharply into his. “You defected for a reason. You might as well build your new life here.” 

Before he could answer, she left, disappearing up the stairs quietly in her socked feet. 

The stew began to bubble and Draco flipped the burner off. He filled a bowl with the stew and grabbed a spoon. He sat at the kitchen table, eating and considering Granger’s words. Though he would never admit it aloud, she was right. He needed to establish himself here, with these people. He’d made his bed, so to speak, and now he must lie in it. 

The following morning, though he woke up quite late, he walked downstairs for breakfast. The quartet at the kitchen table all looked up in surprise when he entered. The corner of Granger’s lips twitched. “Hi,” she greeted breathily. 

“Hello,” he grunted. 

“Have a seat, mate,” Charlie said jovially. “There’s still a bit of bacon and toast. No more eggs, I’m afraid.” 

Draco sat down as Cho passed him a plate. “Thanks,” he mumbled. 

“We were thinking of playing a game of Quidditch today. If you’re interested, it would give us an even number since Hermione refuses to get on a broom,” Charlie offered. 

Quidditch? Draco’s heart soared. It had been so long since he had been on a broom. Since before he had taken his mark. “Really? Sure, I’ll play,” he agreed, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. 

“What position did you play?” Charlie asked. 

“He’s a seeker. We all are, come to think of it,” remarked Cho, looking around the table. 

“Well, we’re all chasers today,” said Harry. 

“Are there brooms? What about the wards?” Draco asked. 

Charlie took a sip of coffee, his blue eyes observing Draco kindly. “There’s a shed out back with a few old brooms. I’m sure they’re nothing like what you used to play on in school, but they’ll do. And the wards extend just past the fence. It’s small, but it gives us plenty of room for a game of doubles.” 

Draco ate quickly, eager to get to the skies as soon as possible. When breakfast was finished and all cleaned up, he followed Charlie, Potter, and Cho out into the back garden. Granger sat on the patio, keeping her nose in a book as Potter distributed four battered brooms. 

They divided into teams: Harry with Cho, and Draco with Charlie, and got to their starting positions. Draco mounted his broom and kicked into the air. 

What followed was a vicious game between the four former seekers. Draco exchanged heated words with everyone in the air and when the game finished and everyone made their way back into the house to shower, Draco stayed behind. He circled the garden, flying this way and that. He was sweaty, agitated, and acutely aware that Granger was still supervising him, but it didn’t matter. He was flying, and he felt freer than he had in years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Monday.   
> Next chapter: March 30th
> 
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> Leave me asks about this story and see sneak peeks of upcoming chapters or other works!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come now, you didn't think Draco would be accepted so easily, did you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your kind words! I am so pleased that you are enjoying the story.  
> I've gotten a couple of requests for more frequent updates. While I'm very flattered that you want to devour this story so quickly in these trying times, I am planning on sticking to weekly updates for now. I have a pretty good buffer of chapters written and edited, but I know I'll blow through it all quickly if I post multiple times a week and then y'all will end up waiting WEEKS or even MONTHS between updates while I slowly type away at it. So I'm really thinking of you when I say, just once a week. But I love you all! I hope you enjoy this one. Stay safe, stay healthy, stay home if you can. 
> 
> As always, Alpha love to BiscuitsForPotter and beta love to DisenchantedGlow. Y'all make me look good.

If life at the Manor had been a thunderstorm, life at the Westenberg house was a drizzle. It wasn’t entirely uneventful, but there was certainly far more tranquility here. Draco spent his days playing Quidditch with the others, flying by himself, and reading books. After four days he had read all of the books that he had brought from the Manor. After that, his only options were a few dusty tomes on a shelf in the living room, but he quickly grew tired of reading. 

He found himself picking fights just to have something interesting to do. After some experimentation, he found that Granger was by far his favourite to rile up. Potter was always ready with a sarcastic quip, but Charlie just laughed at Draco's taunts, and Cho was too easily wounded. Oh, but Granger… 

It took a lot to get a reaction out of her. Most everything he said was just met with a scowl or a roll of her eyes. But every now and then, with the right comment, he would be rewarded by a pink flush over her cheeks and neck. Her eyebrows would furrow and she would rise to her feet to fight with him with such ferocity that it made him infinitely glad that he hadn’t murdered her when ordered.

Apart from these lively arguments over nothing in particular, life at this safe house was rather dull. So dull, in fact, that he was almost caught off-guard when the other inhabitants began to pry into his past. 

“I’m sorry, but I have to ask,” Cho piped up one day at breakfast, her dark eyes darting up to Draco across the table. “What did they make you do?” 

Draco blinked. It seemed Cho’s curiosity had finally surpassed her manners. “Excuse me?” 

“The Death Eaters,” she prompted. “What sort of things did they make you do?” 

All four sets of eyes were trained on him now. It seemed that they had all simply been too polite to ask, but had clearly been wondering as well. Shifting in his seat, Draco cleared his throat. “Shacklebolt has classified my previous profession as ‘need-to-know’,” he said with a sniff, avoiding their eyes. 

“Yeah, I know, I was at the meeting,” said Cho, rolling her eyes. “But surely you can tell us something. There must be a reason why you left.” 

Draco coughed. He should have never listened to Granger’s advice. Staying in his room all day had been a much wiser choice. “Death Eaters don’t have a choice of job. They do as they are told,” he answered cryptically. 

“It’s classified, Cho,” warned Charlie. “Don’t push the subject.”

“Can’t blame a girl for being curious,” said Cho flippantly. “Was it horrible there? Did they torture you?” 

“Cho, stop,” cautioned Potter. 

Cho pressed on, ignoring Potter’s warnings. “Did they ever make you torture someone?” 

“Cho,” chastised Charlie. 

“Did you ever  _ see _ anyone get tortured?” Cho asked. 

Silence befell the table save for a sharp intake of air to his left. He glanced toward the sound. Granger was red faced, eyes cast down, her right hand subtly tugging at the left sleeve of her jumper. 

Draco could still see Bellatrix’s knife sinking into her flesh, could still hear Granger’s shrieks of pain and terror. 

Granger cleared her throat and rose to her feet. She turned from the table. “I have to go to work,” she intoned before leaving the room. A moment later, Draco heard the front door open and close, followed by the brief alert of someone exiting the wards. 

“What? What did I say?” Cho asked, going a bit pink in the cheeks. 

Potter removed his classes and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Cho…” he sighed. “Hermione was tortured at Malfoy Manor last year.” 

Cho’s mouth fell open and her eyes flew to Draco. He could sense her question coming and quickly said, “I’m not the one who did it.” 

“But he was there,” Charlie explained. “Ron told me.” 

“I’m so sorry!” cried Cho. “I had no idea! I— _ oh _ —I have to apologize.” 

Potter waved her off. “You didn’t know. Hermione’s fine now. It’s just not something she likes to talk about much. I’ll check on her on my way into the Ministry.” He glanced at his watch and rose from the table. “I’d better go if I’m going to do that and still get to work on time. See ya.” Straightening his Auror robes, he exited the house as well, leaving Draco with just Cho and Charlie. 

“No work for you two?” Draco asked casually, desperate to change the subject and get the spotlight off of his years with the Death Eaters. 

“I’m on sabbatical,” said Charlie. “I used to work with dragons in Romania, but now I’m taking a break to work for the Order full time.” 

“And you?” Draco turned to Cho, who was still frowning at her plate of eggs. 

She looked up at him, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “I tried out for a few Quidditch teams after Hogwarts, but a lot of them aren’t hiring right now. Not very many people are going to matches these days. A few teams have even shut down because of it.” 

Draco thought of the conversation he had had with William Hammond just a few days ago, and felt a bit guilty for leaving him behind. William wasn’t like most of the Death Eaters. He was kind and meek. Draco only hoped that Theo would look after the boy. 

“So what do you think of Puddlemere’s new seeker?” Draco asked. 

“Bradshaw?” Cho confirmed, her eyes lighting up. “He’s brilliant! Best seeker in the league in my opinion.” 

Draco’s lip twitched in spite of himself. “I think so too.” 

* * *

When Granger returned from St. Mungo’s that evening, her bag was rattling with glass bottles. She made a beeline directly for the downstairs office and closed the door. She spent a lot of time in that office. Order business, Draco guessed. He wondered how often her work as a Healer carried over into Order business. She didn’t talk much about that either, at least not in front of him. Several times, he had entered the living room and interrupted Granger and Potter talking seriously in low voices. 

Perhaps he would have more answers once his probation was lifted. 

“Get your wand,” ordered Potter, bursting through the door. His Auror robes were dusty. There was a tear on his right sleeve and a small splatter of blood on his cheek. “Get Hermione. We need to go.” 

Draco’s heart quickened. There had been an attack. This was it. Some action at last. Was there a battle? Would he have to fight against his former fellow Death Eaters? His stomach plummeted at the thought of potentially facing Theo or Pansy in battle. But at least he would finally get out of this blasted house. 

He leapt to his feet and crossed to the office. He swung the door open without knocking. 

Granger was standing at a table littered with parchments, potions ingredients, and phials. There was a large cauldron in front of her that she was frowning at like it wasn’t cooperating with her. She looked up sharply when he entered. “Malfoy!” she chastised. “Get out. This is classified!” 

“Potter’s here,” Draco snapped. “We need to go.” 

At once, Granger sprang into action. She waved her wand over the table in a simple preservation charm before following Draco into the living room. When she saw the state of her friend she rushed forward. “Harry!” she cried, her hands flying first to his ripped sleeve and then his bloodied face. “Are you alright?” 

Potter shook her off. “I’m fine. It’s not my blood.” 

Granger appeared to be only slightly relieved by this news. Her wide eyes urged Potter to explain. 

“The Death Eaters attacked a Muggle shop. Three Muggles are dead. Several injured.” 

“Let’s go,” Draco urged, gripping his wand tightly. 

“The battle’s done,” said Potter. “The Death Eaters fled.” 

Draco’s heart sank. What was left to do if the Aurors had already dispatched the Death Eaters? 

“We need a team on site for clean up, medical care, and memory modification,” Potter explained. 

Granger nodded, returning to the office to pick up her beaded bag. Draco followed Potter and Granger out of the house reluctantly. This would be his first time beyond the safe house’s wards since they had arrived and he wouldn’t even be fighting. 

Granger grabbed hold of his arm as they passed beyond the gate and maintained her grip as she held Potter’s hand. The scarred Auror apparated, pulling Draco and Granger along with him. 

From the moment they landed in the alley behind the Muggle shop, Draco could hear the sounds of fear and grief all around. They entered the back door into the ladies’ section of a large department store. A small team of Aurors was nearby, sweeping the perimeter for suspicious activity. They eyed at the trio warily when they entered, but Potter gave them a nod and the team passed on. 

While Draco was still taking in the scene around them, Granger darted away from them toward a man who was bleeding profusely from his head. There were several other injured Muggles near the bleeding man, all clutching their ailments with terror in their eyes. There were a few unharmed Muggles talking to Aurors hysterically about what they had witnessed. Draco turned to Potter, waiting for orders. 

“Would you like for me to help Granger with the injured? Or should I take statements from the witnesses?” Draco asked. 

Potter shook his head. “You’ll be on clean up duty. Shacklebolt is working on media control outside, but we need this place cleaned up before they can be allowed inside.” 

Draco scowled. “Cleaning? That’s what I’m here for?” 

Potter shrugged. “Someone needs to do it. You’re on probation. That means you get the happy task of doing everything that others don’t want to do. Or are too busy to do.” He gestured broadly around the vast store. “Lots to clean up. Hop to it,” he said with a wicked smirk. 

Fists shaking with rage, Draco stalked away. This was preposterous, insulting, and degrading. He wasn’t a bloody house elf. Thank Merlin he could use magic. He didn’t even want to imagine how humiliating this would be otherwise. He passed a puddle of dark blood and sneered at the thought of mopping it up the Muggle way. With a wave of his wand—the first magic he had done in days—the blood vanished. Sweet Salazar he’d missed doing magic. 

He spent nearly half an hour cleaning up the mess. Blood splatters that made his stomach turn one moment were gone the next **,** leaving no trace of the attack behind. Overturned clothing racks were righted and their contents restored. Toward the front of the shop, Dawlish and another Auror stood disguised as Muggle police officers. Healed Muggles approached them after giving their statements. The two Aurors checked to make sure that their memories had been properly modified before they escorted the Muggles out of the store. 

Draco continued past them, careful not to perform magic in front of Muggles whose memory had already been modified. 

He entered the men’s department and took a moment to repair an exploded shelf. With a wave of his wand, dozens of shoes returned to their rightful place. 

“I don’t understand!” A woman cried hysterically. “Those masked men—” 

Draco peered around the shelf to see a woman of about thirty standing next to Granger. She was weeping openly. Next to them, Potter covered the body of a man with a sheet before respectfully moving away. 

_ “Andrew!” _ the woman wailed, falling to her knees next to the corpse. “My husband…” 

Was this what Mrs. Pillsworth had looked like when she found her husband in the study? Had she also been confused and devastated, weeping over him as if it were  _ her _ life that had ended? The sight caused a heavy pit to settle in his stomach. He felt nauseous, knowing that he had caused this pain in someone. Draco shook his head, willing the thought to leave him. 

Granger kneeled beside the woman, speaking gentle, hushed words that Draco could not hear. The woman’s body shook with her tears. It was a wonder she could hear Granger over her own shuddering breaths, but she nodded in response to whatever the brunette witch had said. 

Draco watched, entranced by her technique, as she reached out and grabbed hold of the woman’s hand, distracting her. With her other hand, Granger raised her wand behind the woman’s back and waved it over her head. The memory spell reached forward and wrapped itself around the woman’s panicked mind. 

When Granger had finished, the confusion was gone from the woman’s expression, but the terror and grief remained. 

They exchanged a few more quiet words before Potter came forward and helped the woman to her feet. He escorted her toward the exit, leaving Granger alone near the body of the Muggle man. 

She rose to her feet and brushed her hands off on her trousers. She looked… exhausted. Draco wondered how many Muggles she had Obliviated today and how much it took out of her each time she had to do it. 

He looked around for any more messes to clean. Aside from the dead Muggle man, it seemed to be a typical store. His job was complete. Slowly, he approached Granger. She glanced at him, her eyes a bit teary. 

“Is that everyone?” he asked. 

Granger looked around. It was quiet in the store now. All of the crying, screaming Muggles had been tended to. “I believe so,” she responded. 

“What memory did you give her?” he asked curiously. 

She glanced to the exit, where Dawlish was escorting the grieving widow through the doors. “A biological attack. Chemical warfare from an underground terrorist cell. It’s the only way we can explain the lack of a wound,” she explained. “I wish I could have erased her grief,” she continued, perhaps forgetting who she was talking to. “Her face when she saw him…” 

Granger trailed off, wiping her eyes quickly and turning away from him. “Are you done?” she asked a bit too loudly. 

“What?” Draco blinked. “Oh, yes. I think so.” 

Granger looked around before nodding. “Let’s check in with Harry and then we can probably go.”

Once they had been dismissed and made their way back to the safehouse, Granger set to work reheating some of the dinner that Charlie and Cho must have made while they were gone. She offered him some, and he accepted gratefully. 

They sat at the table, eating their roast beef and potatoes in silence until Granger spoke. 

“You did well today,” she commented. 

Draco scoffed. “I didn’t do anything.”

“No, really. I know it’s not fun to be on clean up duty. Thanks for not complaining about it too much.” 

Draco blinked in surprise. He was fairly sure that Granger had never thanked him for anything in his life. “Well, the sooner I get off cleaning duty, the better.” 

Granger nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll be sure to mention your cooperation in my report to Kingsley.” 

Bristling, he shifted in his seat. He hadn’t really thought much about how all of his actions would make their way back to the Minister. “What else will be in your report?” 

She smirked and gave him a knowing look. “If you’re worried that I’m going to mention all the fights you’ve been provoking, you can relax.”

“Wait, you knew that I was—?” he trailed off, his face burning. Apparently his private source of entertainment was not as subtle as he’d thought.

Granger rolled her eyes. “Of course, I did. But as annoying as it is, being a prat isn’t a crime. A massive pain in my arse maybe, but not a crime. As long as you don’t try to hurt us, there shouldn’t be an issue.” 

Breathing a sigh of relief, Draco took another bite of roast. 

“But,” Granger added with a grin. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to be less of a prat.” 

Draco let out a short laugh. “No promises, Granger.” 

The next three weeks of Draco's life passed in much the same way. Though he tagged along on an occasional mission, he was never allowed direct contact with Death Eaters or civilians. No, the only duties Granger entrusted him with were clean-ups and memory modification assistance. And the latter had only happened once. 

Draco and Granger easily fell into a routine at the safe house. He always woke up after Granger. She waited for him in the kitchen with a plate of breakfast and a cup of coffee each morning. Judging by the bags under her eyes, she hardly slept. He wasn't one to speak, though. It wasn't like he was sleeping particularly well, himself. 

Still, they managed to exchange stiff pleasantries in an effort to remain civil with each other. 

Though Granger went to St. Mungo's to work most mornings, on the days she didn't work, she spent her time closed behind her office door for hours on end. Merlin only knew what she did in there, but the smells of various brewing potions frequently wafted from the door. 

The other occupants of Westenberg house seemed to tolerate Draco well enough. That was until the shifting of Order members began. First, it was Charlie Weasley. He left about a week into Draco's stay—reassigned to another safe house. His place was taken by Ginny. Thankfully the redheaded girl spent so much time shut up with Potter in his room that it felt like they weren't even present half the time. 

Soon though, Potter left, replaced by Dean Thomas. 

Draco did his best to remain civil with his new housemates, but it was difficult when the Weasley girl kept glaring daggers at him whenever he entered the room and Thomas muttered nasty comments under his breath after he exited. At least Cho seemed to have warmed up to him a bit, and Granger, though still cold, was quick to jump to his defence if anyone got too hostile.

While he and Granger had a steady, pleasant-enough routine, the same could not be said when he attended meetings at Headquarters. Each time he sat around that table, he could practically feel the air around him crackle with tension. Most Order members didn't trust him. That much was obvious. The way they avoided eye contact or spoke about him when they thought he was just out of earshot... it was clear that he simply wasn't welcome. The room was always crowded and Draco felt crushed by the sheer number of people who so openly despised him. 

Draco kept mostly to himself during these meetings, sitting quietly and trying to fade into the background. Though he often kept his eyes down, he listened intently for any news of Pansy or Theo. Luckily, they were never mentioned. Draco guessed that they were not important enough in the Death Eater ranks to be high-priority targets for the Order. He was careful to listen especially closely when there was any mention of events overseas. He wasn’t sure where his mother had gone, but he imagined that it was in Europe somewhere. Perhaps Greece or Switzerland where the war was much less severe. He hoped she was safe, wherever she was. 

* * *

October brought rain and cold air to the Westenberg house. For days Draco was forced to stay inside due to the dismal weather. Draco took every rare, sunny day as an opportunity to fly in the back garden. As he came in for dinner one day, he was surprised to find Kingsley Shacklebolt sitting at the dining room table with Granger. “Ah, Malfoy! Just the man I was hoping to see.” 

“Me, sir?” Draco cocked his head, eyebrows furrowed.

“Shall we talk in the office?” Shacklebolt suggested. 

“Sir, I’m afraid my research is set up in the office,” said Granger. 

“Ah, and how is your research going?” 

Her eyes flickered over to Draco. She clearly still did not trust him completely. “I haven’t had any breakthroughs yet, but I'm still working on it.” 

“Well, keep at it. Let me know if you need any help,” said Shacklebolt. He turned to Draco. “Have a seat, Malfoy.” 

Draco did as he was told, sitting next to Granger. 

“We have discovered the location of a Death Eater hideout. It seems that without the use of your family’s manor, there is nowhere big enough to house all of them anymore, so they have split up—much like we have—into various safe houses,” explained Shacklebolt. “I would like for you to perform a reconnaissance mission for me. Observe and report  _ only _ . Gather what information you can about the location, and then we can build a raid around that.” 

Draco nodded. “What kind of information do you need?” 

“First and foremost, we need to know everything you can discover about the wards. I know that it is risky to obtain much information without raising alarms, but—”

“No, I can do it,” Draco interrupted. “What else do you need to know?” 

Shacklebolt gave him a thoughtful look for a moment. “We need to know numbers. How many Death Eaters we can expect once we’re inside the wards. Anything you can discover about patrols and security. Do you think you can do that?” 

Draco nodded at once. “I can. When would you like me to go?” 

“How long do you need to prepare?” asked Shacklebolt. 

Draco blinked. This was different. He was not used to being... asked. Dolohov never asked; he only ever commanded. He never cared about Draco’s preferences. Dolohov wielded his authority with an iron fist, demanding jobs to be done on  _ his _ timeline. Lack of time meant he had to scramble. And scrambling meant sloppy work. 

“It’s a simple job. I can’t imagine needing more than a few hours to get ready,” he replied. 

“Is tonight too soon?” asked Kingsley. “I assume that cover of night would be your preference for this type of job.” 

Draco nodded and checked his watch. That gave him at least four hours after dinner. There wouldn’t be any blueprints to study or psychological profiles to form. All of that information would be his to discover. “I can be ready tonight.” 

“Sir,” Granger piped up. “Malfoy is still on probation. Do you intend for him to go alone?” 

“Yes,” said Shacklebolt. “I’m sorry, Hermione, but I believe that this particular mission is better suited for just one.” 

“Are you sure that’s wise?” she asked, pushing ahead as if Draco were not there. “Perhaps it would be more prudent to send one of our more trusted members.” 

“No one else in the Order has the experience with Death Eaters that Malfoy has. He knows them and how they operate. This task will also be better performed by someone with Malfoy’s... particular set of skills,” explained the Minister. 

Draco watched as Granger frowned at these words. How much did she know about his skills? Her expression, though concerned, did not give away much. 

“Has Malfoy given you any reason to doubt his trustworthiness?” asked Shacklebolt. 

Granger glanced at Draco, her eyes darting over his face for a moment before she turned back to the Minister. “No, sir.” 

“Then it’s settled.” Shacklebolt produced a small file and set it on the table in front of Draco. “You’ll leave tonight, Malfoy. This file contains everything you need to know. There isn’t much in there, since you’ll be the one to gather most of the information. We have portkeys set up for your journey there and then back here again. I will be at Headquarters all night waiting for you to check in with your report.” 

Draco nodded before picking up the file and opening it. Inside were a few facts about the Death Eater hideout, a map of a country village with notable landmarks labeled clearly, and the address of a home in Surrey. 

“Surrey,” he muttered. 

“Does that mean anything to you?” asked the Minister. 

“Not particularly. I know that Goyle is from Surrey. It’s possible this is his house, but I’ve never been there so I’m not sure. I’ll do my best to find out.” 

Shacklebolt nodded. “How long do you think you’ll need on site?” 

“It depends on the strength of the wards,” Draco said, tapping one finger against the table thoughtfully. “If they’re very strong it could take me up to an hour to gain access without raising suspicion. Once I’m inside it should be fairly quick. I’ll just need to do a quick count and note your best points of entry. So perhaps… three hours all together.” 

The minister nodded. “Very well, I will give you until two o’clock to check in. If, by that time, I still have not heard from you, we'll send in a rescue team.”

“After he checks in with you, Minister, will he return here?” asked Granger. 

“Yes, I feel that would be best.” 

“Sir,” said Draco. “I am not permitted in or out of Order wards without Granger. My wand as well—”

“Not to worry. I will see to it that we temporarily remove the restrictions on your travel and your wand usage. Those restrictions will be put back into place after you arrive back here following your mission.” 

“Thank you,” replied Draco. 

Shacklebolt stood. “Well, if there is nothing else, I'll leave you to your preparations. I will see you after your mission is complete.” 

With a final nod, the Minister walked out the kitchen door, through the garden and past the wards where he disappeared with a crack. 

“What did he mean by  _ skills _ ?” asked Granger, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. 

_ Ah. So she hadn’t known what Shacklebolt had meant _ . 

Granger didn’t know anything about what he had done with the Death Eaters, it seemed. Good. She had only just begun to speak to him with civility. If she knew the truth about him she would surely hate him again. “I have a lot of preparing to do.” Without another word, he closed his file and walked away, leaving her alone in the kitchen.

* * *

The portkey dropped him on a hill in Surrey. It was raining, and storm clouds lit up the sky in the distance. It was already dark, but he had cast a disillusionment charm on himself to avoid being seen by straggling Death Eaters. 

According to the map, he needed to walk east to get to the hideout. He could see the home’s lights in the distance and made a mental note that a Notice-Me-Not charm was not included in the wards. 

Draco moved quickly through clearings and stayed to the shadows as much as possible. There was a small forest on the north side of the house and he made his way there. As quietly as he could, he slinked between the trees. He was within a hundred meters of the home before the wards prevented him from continuing closer. Draco gently pushed his magic against the wards, testing their strength carefully without drawing attention to himself. 

No, it wouldn’t take him long to break into these wards at all. Dolohov must not have moved into this location. The High Minister would never have allowed such vulnerable wards at his headquarters. If Draco had to guess, the only thing within this house would be a few low level Death Eaters. 

The difficult part would be getting inside the wards without raising suspicion. He could see the house, but no guards. There was likely a glamour charm of sorts—like the one disguising the Westenberg house—concealing them from view. Draco started there. Glamour charms were easy enough to dispel. He worked for five mere minutes before the spell flickered away. 

Three guards that he could see were patrolling the grounds around the house. Another stood at the front door. Draco moved through the trees at the edge of the wards, keeping low and moving fast. There was a fifth guard at the side door, and a sixth at the back door. He certainly would not be able to provide the Order with a detailed account of the house’s interior. Getting inside would mean having to kill several of these guards, and while Draco didn’t doubt that he was capable of doing that, Shacklebolt had been clear. Observe and report. 

Still, he had to get inside the wards to complete his mission. He found a place that was, for the moment, out of the way of the guards’ watch. It provided him with ample tree cover and he quickly set to work. 

There were only a handful of spells that he could use against wards that were both lightless and soundless. He started with those. 

Spell after spell, his attempts were fruitless. He kept his eyes peeled for any weak spots. Each spell hit the barrier and radiated outward. If Draco looked hard enough, he could watch his spell ripple along in search of a way in. 

After several long minutes, he finally saw it. A spell had traveled along the wards and created a small glimmer to his left. To his chagrin, he saw that a guard was standing very near the weak area. He needed a distraction. He backed up, gaining some more tree cover before he cast a spell above his head. It zoomed away from him without light, turned in the air, and then rushed down like a bolt of lightning, hitting a tree on the other side of the house just outside the wards. It’s bark exploded with a mighty bang, sending shards of wood raining down, bouncing off the wards and drawing the attention of all of the guards. 

The guard near the weak spot drew his wand, moving away from his post toward the tree, which was ablaze. The distraction wouldn’t grant him much time, and he had certainly raised quite a bit of alarm so everyone would be on high alert. Draco only hoped that they would assume the fire was caused by a sudden, but natural, lightning strike. 

Quick as he could, Draco darted to the weakened area of the wards. He knew just which spell to use now and once it was cast, he easily moved beyond the protection spells as fast as he could. He kneeled down behind a tree just inside the protective boundary. 

_ “Homenum Revelio Charta,” _ he whispered. 

From his wand burst a small rendering of the house and the rooms within. Small blue dots moved about, seven outside including himself, and nine within. 

“Just a bit of lightning, gents,” barked a gruff voice from the other side of the house. “Back to your posts.” 

That information would have to do. “ _ Finite, _ ” he breathed, extinguishing the map of the house. He backed out of the wards and reset all of the spells as the guards came back into view. He retreated a hundred meters before he located his Portkey and disappeared back to Headquarters. 

* * *

Shacklebolt was waiting for him in the dining room when Draco arrived at half past one. 

“Malfoy,” he greeted with a singular nod from his spot at the head of the table. “All done, I trust?” 

Draco responded. “Yes.” 

Shacklebolt glanced at his pocket watch, and something flickered over his face. “And with a half hour to spare? Impressive.” 

With a flick of his wand, the man wordlessly drew out the chair to his left—a clear invitation to sit. 

Draco obeyed the directions before giving a full report: six Death Eaters guarding the outside, nine Death Eaters on the inside. He showed the Minister the rudimentary map of the home and told him in detail which wards were in place and where the weak spot could be found. When he had finished speaking, Shacklebolt looked thoroughly impressed. 

“Well done,” the Minister praised with a rare smile. “If you think of any other information that would be useful, please tell Ms. Granger. She can always reach me.”

“Yes, sir.” Draco kept his posture stiff in case Shacklebolt had any more directions to give tonight. But it seems he didn’t. Instead, the man raised his hand in a sort of dismissal. 

“That will be all. You can head back to Westenberg for now. There’s a portkey. Go get some rest.” Shacklebolt held out a small button, wrapped in a cloth. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Draco accepted it and rose from the table, preparing to take his leave. 

“And Malfoy?

“Sir?”

“Thank you.” 

With a brief nod, Draco let the button fall into hand. In an instant, he was whisked away. 

When he landed just outside the gate at the Westenberg house and made his way past the wards, the house was dark save for one lamp in the living room. Through the window he could see Granger sitting in a chair by the light. She was reading, of course. Why was she still awake at this hour? It was well past two in the morning. 

As he walked up onto the porch, her head popped up from her book. Her eyes met his and she gave him a little wave. 

Draco grimaced and opened the door. He was drenched from the rain, exhausted, and feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. He had hoped to go directly upstairs and go to sleep, but it seemed that Granger had other plans. 

“You’re back,” she said, standing as he entered the room and closed the door behind him. “How did it go?” 

“What are you, my mother?” he growled. He hadn’t meant to snap at her, but he was exhausted and uncomfortable in his sodden clothes. 

Granger frowned and crossed her arms. “No. I’m your probationary mentor, which means you answer to me. Or had you forgotten?” 

“Actually, on this mission, I answered to Shacklebolt. I’ve already given him my report. I didn’t realize that you would be needing one as well. Why aren’t you asleep? Did you wait up for me or something?” 

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Granger said haughtily. 

“Why?” he snarled. Why did she feel the need to be around him? To get to know him? Why was she so interested in his activities? She should want to stay far, far away from him. As far away as he wanted to be from her. 

“Because, Malfoy, I’m your mentor. I’m not just in charge of making sure you don’t fuck up. I’m in charge of keeping you safe while you’re learning the ropes here. That means that it’s my arse if anything happens to you,” she replied darkly. 

“You were worried about me?” Draco teased with a smirk. “I’m touched, Granger. I had no idea you cared.” 

A faint blush spread over Granger’s neck as she scowled at him. “I only care about what would happen to me if you ended up a smoldering pile of ash. Once your probation is lifted you can get yourself killed any way you see fit, but please try not to do it on my watch.” 

“Well, I’m perfectly safe, Granger. Shacklebolt’s gotten his report and I’m sure the Order will arrest several more Death Eaters very soon thanks to me. So you can cut the concerned school marm act—”

“Fuck you,” she seethed. 

Draco blinked. “Since when does the perfect Gryffindor Princess have such a mouth on her?” 

“Since always. You were just too busy pretending to be king of the world to notice that I’m a human being, Malfoy.” 

Draco rubbed his eyes. “It’s too late for this shite,” he groaned. “I don’t know what’s got your knickers in a twist tonight, Granger, but I just want to go to sleep.” 

“You could have gone to sleep much sooner if you had just been polite and answered my question when you came in!” she argued, her voice raising now. 

If they kept this up, they would wake the whole house, but dammit, Draco wanted to fight with her. He’d kept his mouth shut about all of these damn restrictions for too long. “No, I could have gone to sleep much sooner if you had just gone to bed at a decent hour. I don’t need a bloody nanny, Granger. Shacklebolt trusted me to go on this solo mission. You had nothing to do with it, so don’t pretend to be my keeper tonight. Tonight I’m my own man.” 

“Oh, are you? Then why don’t you leave?” she challenged, gesturing toward the door. “If you’re so free, just go.” 

He couldn’t. She  _ knew _ he couldn’t. His travel restrictions had resumed the moment he had returned here. He had never wanted to hurt her as badly as he did in this moment. 

“You just hate that Shacklebolt took away a tiny bit of the power you hold over me. You’re such a damaged control freak that you needed to sit up all night and remind me that you could still crush me under your little thumb, is that it?” 

“I am not a control freak,” she seethed. 

“Ah, but you  _ are _ damaged though, aren’t you?”

It was like she’d been hit with a silencing spell. Her mouth hung open for a moment before snapping shut. As if subconsciously, her right hand came up to cover her left forearm protectively. 

Draco realized his mistake at once and immediately regretted his words. He refused to backpedal now though. He’d wounded her, isn’t that what he had wanted?

“You  _ know _ I am,” she breathed venomously. The words hung between them, the silence pressing on his ears as harshly as her shouts had a moment ago. 

Something akin to guilt twisted inside of him. Before he could reply, she marched past him and disappeared up the stairs. 

He opened his mouth, his words filling the empty room. “Aren’t we all?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates on Mondays. Next Chapter posts April 6th.  
> Follow me on Tumblr (graceful-lioness) for updates, sneak peeks, and to send me asks about your DitD theories!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cracks begin to form in Draco's rough exterior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Just a small warning that this chapter makes references to a Ron/Hermione relationship. 
> 
> I love hearing everyone's thoughts and guesses as to what's going to happen! Leave me a comment here if you feel so inclined. I read all my comments and love each one, even if I'm sometimes terrible about replying to them. 
> 
> The best way to get in touch with me and get a response, is to find me on tumblr @ graceful-lioness and leave me an ask or DM there! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this one. It's one of my favorites of the early chapters. 
> 
> Alpha love: BiscuitsForPotter  
> Beta love: DisenchantedGlow

Draco didn’t see Granger until well after breakfast the next day. She shuffled down the stairs, still in her pajamas, and made herself a cup of coffee with a scowl as he read at the kitchen table. Her eyes were lined with dark circles and it appeared that she had gotten even less sleep than he had, which was saying something. He had tossed and turned most of the night, his hurtful words playing over and over again in his mind. Try as he might, he couldn’t forget the venom in her voice and the hateful look in her eye. 

Swallowing his pride, Draco closed his book and cleared his throat. “Listen Granger,” he stammered. “I shouldn’t have said what I did last night. I was out of line.” 

She turned to him, her honey coloured eyes observing him coolly as if waiting for him to laugh or make some other hurtful quip. When he didn’t, her expression softened slightly. “Thank you.” She sat down at the table with a hesitant smile. “What are you reading?” 

Draco figured that this was Granger’s version of an olive branch, and maybe it was all of the time he’d spent with her making him soft, but in that moment he was inclined to accept it. 

* * *

An Order meeting was called for that evening. Granger left early and instructed Ginny to accompany Draco to headquarters. They arrived early and took their seats—Granger was already at the table, and Draco settled along the wall. Charlie and Cho sat next to him, making a point to talk jovially with him as a show for the rest of the Order who were still skeptical of his loyalties. 

“Alright everyone, settle down,” said Shacklebolt as the seats began to fill. “First order of business today is to tell you all that we had a successful raid on a Death Eater safehouse this morning. Seven Death Eaters were captured.” 

A few cheers and excited words rippled through the crowd. 

“And we owe the success of this mission to Draco Malfoy,” continued Shacklebolt. 

The audience hushed and Draco felt several sets of eyes on him. 

“He performed a reconnaissance mission for us last night, and it was the information he gathered that made the raid so successful.” 

Charlie clapped him on the shoulder. “Well done, mate.” 

Cho and Lovegood were smiling at him. Even Granger looked at him with kindness. 

“I spoke with Hermione this afternoon and we have decided that Mr. Malfoy’s actions have warranted an end to his probation.” 

Had he heard correctly? An end to his probation? There was a smattering of polite, albeit half-hearted applause as Draco rose to shake Shacklebolt’s hand. With a wave of the Minister’s wand, the wards were lifted from Draco’s wand. He was free. Free from the restrictions on his travel and wand, free from Granger. _At last_. 

* * *

That evening, following the meeting, Draco arrived at his newly assigned safe house: the Longbottom house. Now that Neville was grown, Augusta Longbottom had retired and moved to the country to be with her sister, leaving her home in her grandson’s care. It was a stately house with more than enough bedrooms to spare. Neville took his own childhood bedroom, Dean claimed the master bedroom as his own, Ginny and Granger chose two rooms across from each other on the upper level and Draco took the room next to Granger’s. Though the know-it-all witch was no longer his mentor, Shacklebolt had decided to keep the two of them stationed at the same safe house for a short period to ease his transition into being a full Order member. 

When bedrooms had successfully been claimed and everyone had settled in for the evening, Draco found his way to the kitchen through the cheery halls of the house. Upon arrival, he raised his eyebrows when he saw who else was there. 

“I thought you were already in bed,” he commented to Granger as she waited for the kettle to boil. 

“Just making a cuppa before bed. Chamomile. Helps me sleep.” 

He nodded, not sure what to make of her clipped answer. The question he really wanted to ask danced on the tip of his tongue for a moment before he took the plunge.

“Were you the one who recommended that my probation be lifted?” Draco asked as steam began pouring from the spout.

Granger took her time answering, fussing over her mug first. When she was quite finished she turned and leaned back on the counter. “Actually, Kingsley recommended it after your mission last night. He owled me early this afternoon asking me to come to headquarters before the meeting to discuss it. He asked me if I thought you were ready.”

“And?” 

“I told him you were.” 

“Even after our argument last night?” 

Granger’s lips twitched upwards. “I told you before, Malfoy. Being a prat isn’t a crime.” 

He smiled, tapping his fingers nervously on the counter. “Well, thanks for putting in a good word for me.” 

“Don’t mention it,” she chirped before taking a sip from her mug.

Not knowing what else to say, and eager to exercise his newfound freedom, Draco set off to explore the Longbottom house. 

* * *

For the next three days, Draco’s life was not much different than it had been on probation. He and Granger still exchanged pleasantries and he did his best to get along well with the other occupants of the house. However, without any missions to complete, he was still as bored as he had been at the Westenberg house. 

At last, one cold October day, nearly two weeks after his arrival, a patronus appeared at the house, flying through walls and landing beside the dining table where they had all been eating lunch. 

A silver stag, which spoke in Potter’s voice. 

“ _Death Eaters attacking in Bibury, Cotswolds. Come at once.”_

Granger stood up so quickly that she knocked over her chair. Draco, Ginny, Dean, and Neville jumped up as well, drawing their wands and darting for the fireplace. 

They flooed to headquarters, where four other members were waiting while Shacklebolt procured a Portkey to the small village. 

The Portkey took them to a sunny hill on the outskirts of the little country town. Ahead of them were several neat rows of quaint cottages and shops. The group moved in quickly toward the old village, keeping their eyes open for enemies. There were sounds of battle up ahead: shouts and cries of pain; flashes of light from spellfire. They saw Potter motion to them from the doorway of a small cottage. He looked a bit frazzled and beckoned them all into the tiny home frantically. All of the Order members filed in quickly and closed the door behind them. There was a map on a small dining table and they all gathered around it. 

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Potter said. “We have at least ten Death Eaters. The Aurors have been working to evacuate the civilians, but we need help ending the battle.” He rolled out a map of the village. “Here’s where the majority of the fighting’s been held,” he noted, pointing to the town square. “Our best chances for attack are to come from here… and here…” 

Draco craned his neck over Ginny’s head to see where Potter pointed. 

“Hermione, take a small team down this road here. I’ll take the rest down the other road. We’ll box them in.” 

Draco’s gut twisted and a horrible feeling of dread spread through him. Granger was no military commander. It seemed foolish in Draco’s eyes for Potter to put her in charge of a unit. He wanted to speak up, but it was not his place. Here, Potter was in charge. 

Granger nodded and turned to the small group gathered around the table. “Alright, I’ll take Parvati, Dean, Charlie, and Malfoy.” 

“The rest of you, with me,” ordered Potter. He moved toward the door, four people following him closely. 

Once outside, the two teams split up, travelling in opposite directions down narrow streets toward the sounds of battle ahead. 

This was wrong. Everything inside of Draco was telling him that a frontal assault was not right. The Death Eaters were excellent duelers, especially the ones hand picked for attacks like this one. 

Draco was not the strongest dueler. He wasn’t as skilled in combat as the men they would be up against. A brief flicker of fear crossed his mind, but he shook it away. This was not the moment for fear. He had to keep his mind clear and use his strengths…

_His strengths…_

He slowed down, allowing the others to pass him and he hung back slightly. They were a block from the battle now, and he could see spells flying through the gaps between buildings up ahead. As the others charged forward into the clearing, he skulked into an alleyway which would grant him a bit of shadow and cover. 

He peered around the corner and saw a Death Eater dueling with Dawlish. “ _Stupefy,”_ he muttered, watching the spell race across the courtyard to hit the Death Eater between the shoulder blades. 

His position now compromised, he backed into the alley and disappeared around the back of the building, keeping an eye out for other advantageous vantage points. He broke into a Muggle house and climbed up the stairs. From a bedroom window looking out over the courtyard, he was able to see the entire battle. Potter had clearly paid attention during his Auror training. His dueling skills were much more refined now than they had been during the Battle of Hogwarts. The young Auror needed no help stunning the Death Eater who was dueling him. 

All of the Weasleys moved with a comfort that could only come from growing up around magic. They trusted it, understood it. Their technique was a bit sloppy at times, but they moved with ease and nearly always got the job done. 

Granger’s technique was impeccable. She had clearly studied proper wand grips and casting styles in depth. But it was mere academic knowledge without extensive practice. Her movements were too stiff, too stilted. She gave herself away to her enemy. A split second before she cast her spells, Draco could already tell what she was going to do. 

A Death Eater had also noticed her subtle weaknesses too and was advancing on her rapidly, deflecting spell after spell as if he were simply swatting at flies. Granger backed up, her brow furrowed in determination. 

Draco stunned the Death Eater easily, pausing only a moment before stunning another. Granger’s head whipped up in his direction, her eyes meeting his with confusion. Draco darted away from the window in search of a new place. 

He continued until the battle was complete, creeping between the shadows and picking off Death Eaters one by one—five in total. At last, the courtyard was quiet, all of the Death Eaters were either stunned or had retreated. Only then did Draco venture into the courtyard with the rest of the Order members. 

The Aurors were binding the Death Eaters and transporting them to the Ministry one at a time. Granger approached him. “Why did you fight from the shadows?” she asked quietly. 

Draco shrugged, eyes darting around the courtyard. “It’s just how I work best,” he said vaguely. 

“Well, I can’t argue with your results,” Granger remarked, glancing at the Death Eater who had nearly gotten the best of her. “But you should have told me before you went rogue. I was your team leader, which means—”

A dark figure was raising a wand in the shadows behind Granger and Draco’s arm shot up on instinct, wordlessly stunning the man in a flash. The figure crumpled. 

Granger whipped around, her mouth agape in shock. “What—?” she stammered breathlessly. She turned back to Draco, her eyes darting between his in surprise, confusion, and—perhaps—a bit of fear. 

“Watch your six, Granger,” he advised calmly, walking past her to where the stunned man lay. 

He leaned down and removed the man’s Death Eater mask. It was Snyde. Curious. Snyde was not a dueler. He was too big and burly to move quickly. Perhaps Dolohov was experimenting with changing some of his followers’ positions. 

“Well done, Malfoy,” said Dawlish from behind him. “We’ll take it from here.” 

Draco stood and nodded stiffly. “His name’s Snyde. His father is a Death Eater too.” 

Dawlish waved over another Auror, who shuffled forward and bound Snyde before apparating them both to the Ministry. 

Draco walked back to the center of the courtyard where the other Order members waited, many of them looking at him in shock. 

“How did you know he was there?” asked Granger. 

Draco scoffed. “I _saw_ him, Granger. It’s not dark magic.” 

“Yeah, but one second we were just talking and then the next…” 

Draco snorted and turned away from her. “I don’t know what to tell you. Our conversation wasn’t that interesting.” 

“Lucky shot, eh, Malfoy?” Dean asked, clapping his hand on Draco’s shoulder. 

It wasn’t. Not at all. Still, he didn’t want them to know that. He shrugged. “Yeah, lucky shot.” 

Potter moved over to stand by the group. “The Aurors have said that they can handle the clean up if you lot want to go back to headquarters. Great job, everyone.” 

Once everyone had arrived back at headquarters, they each gave their reports to Shacklebolt before Draco and Hermione made their way back to the Longbottom house with the others. Draco retired to his room quickly, eager to get away from Granger and her suspicious eyes. 

After just an hour, however, there was a timid knock on his door, interrupting his peaceful solitude. With a sigh, he pushed himself off of the bed and opened the door. Granger stood in his doorway, looking like she wasn’t sure why she had ended up there. “Hi,” she greeted sheepishly. 

He stopped himself from rolling his eyes. If she was going to yell at him for disobeying orders at the battle he wished she would just get it over with. Bloody Gryffindors always needed to talk about everything ad nauseam. “Hello,” he returned. 

“Can I come in?” 

Draco hesitated for a moment before stepping aside to allow her to pass. She stepped past him cautiously and stood in the middle of the room shuffling her feet awkwardly. Draco closed the door and turned to her expectantly. 

“What do you—?” he began. 

“What exactly was your job with the Death Eaters?” she blurted out. 

He blinked. She had never asked him so bluntly before. He could imagine that her brain had been working double over the past few hours to try to figure it out. And he couldn’t blame her. She’d seen his skills… or at least some of them. 

“Need-to-know,” he said simply, knowing it wouldn’t be good enough. 

“I need to know,” she returned, her eyes almost pleading. 

“Why?” He challenged, his heart beating rapidly beneath his jumper. 

“Because… I don’t know.” She turned away from him to run her fingers through her hair in frustration. “Because whatever it is can’t possibly be as bad as what I’m imagining.” 

She was wrong. Nothing was as bad as what he had done. Nothing could be worse. “And what are you imagining?” He asked evenly. 

Granger shuffled her feet for a moment, refusing to meet his eyes. “You just… you’re so quiet and fast. You’re always startling people in the houses by accidentally sneaking up behind them. And the way you fought today—sneaking between shadows and stunning people without them even realizing—it just made me think that maybe…” She trailed off, fear suddenly filling her face. “When you stunned that Death Eater earlier after the battle… That wasn’t just a lucky shot like Dean said, was it?” 

Draco’s throat constricted. She knew. She was just too afraid to accuse him. “No,” he confirmed. “It wasn’t.” 

Granger suddenly looked very fearful. Her eyes darted to the door like a cornered animal looking for an escape. “Nevermind,” she said suddenly. “I shouldn’t have come here.” 

She took a few steps toward the exit, but he was standing in front of the door, blocking her path. 

“No,” he challenged. “Tell me. Tell me what you think I did.” Granger’s eyes snapped to his and he could practically see her muster up her Gryffindor courage. 

“I think…” She swallowed thickly. “I think you were an assassin.” 

Silence encompassed them, thick and heavy in the tiny bedroom. 

Draco considered his options. He could deny it, of course. But why? How long could he avoid the subject of his past? Perhaps it would be a relief for someone—someone other than Shacklebolt and Dawlish—to know. 

“You always were the intelligent one,” he quipped casually, thrusting his hands into his pockets. 

Granger flinched. “So it’s true? You _were_ an assassin?” 

Draco dropped his gaze and rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. “Dolohov doesn’t give his Death Eaters a choice of job. You’re given the job you’re most well suited to and then trained to perform it flawlessly,” he explained, as if it absolved him of any guilt. 

“Did you actually…” her question died in her throat. 

“Kill anyone?” He finished for her, his stomach twisted in a knot. “Yes.” 

He watched her process this news, dreading the moment when she would inevitably run out in horror and share his terrible secret with everyone who had just begun to trust him. “Anyone I know?” she asked. 

He hesitated. Having Granger know what he had done was one thing, but having her know what he had _almost_ done to her was quite another. No, telling her that he had been tasked to kill her would certainly be a mistake. “I never killed anyone I knew. No Order Members. Mostly Ministry officials or people who crossed the Death Eaters.” 

An array of emotions crossed her features. First shock and confusion, then a flicker of fear, sadness, and finally a stiff nod as she set her jaw. “Shacklebolt knows about this and still trusts you?” 

“He does.” 

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?” 

He nearly laughed at her straightforward naivety. “No, Granger. I never much liked the killing bit anyways.” 

Granger smiled and he couldn’t believe how well this conversation was going. “What was it that finally made you leave?” she asked curiously. 

Draco grimaced, not wanting to tell her about his mother. “Dolohov asked too much of me on my final mission, and then he lost his bargaining chip. I’d had enough and he no longer had the tools to keep me there.” 

That answer seemed to satisfy Granger for the time being. “Aren’t you afraid that the Death Eaters are going to kill you since you betrayed them?” she asked, looking genuinely concerned at the thought. 

He shrugged. “I’m sure they’ll try.” 

Granger worried her bottom lip between her teeth and her brow furrowed. “You’re not frightened?” 

Draco choked out a short laugh. “They could try to kill me in battle, and maybe that was their hope today. But then how am I any different than the rest of you? Maybe Snyde was sent to kill me, but he did a rather shite job of that, didn’t he? If they want to send an assassin, well… I was the only one they had. It will take Dolohov months to train a new one. Longer if they want them to be better than I was.” 

Granger took a small step back, one of her hands coming up to nervously touch her neck. “You’re pretty confident. You think you were that good?” 

“I was excellent,” Draco growled darkly. “I didn’t like it, but I was very good… It’s probably the _only_ thing I’m good at.” He’d added the last bit under his breath, but judging by the pitying look in her eye, she’d heard him clearly. Why had he said that? Was there something about being in the Order that forced one to reveal sappy personal truths? He cursed himself for showing her any vulnerability. 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Granger murmured with a frown. 

It was perhaps the nicest thing she’d said to him, and Draco felt something stir within him. Gratitude, perhaps? Before he could linger on why exactly he suddenly felt a bit queasy, a voice drifted up the stairs. 

“Hermione!”

Granger’s head turned toward the door. “Yes?” She shouted past him. 

“Dinner’s ready, and I have a surprise for you,” Ginny Weasley’s sing-song voice returned. 

Granger’s eyes danced over Draco’s face for a moment, her mouth parted like she wanted to say something else. “We should go to dinner,” she said at last. 

He nodded and stepped aside for her to pass him. Hand on the knob, she paused and turned back to him, her cheeks slightly pink for some reason Draco could not fathom. “I won’t tell the others, you know,” she offered quietly. 

Draco blinked, the strange feeling in him intensifying. “Thank you,” he replied. 

She opened the door and made her way down the stairs. Draco trailed after her a moment later. He had just reached the last step when he heard Granger’s cry of surprise from the kitchen. 

“Ron!” 

Draco grimaced. How had he forgotten about the Weasel King? He supposed he should consider himself lucky that Weasley had not shown his ugly, freckled face yet. Where had he been all this time? He briefly considered turning around and returning to his room, but he was hungry and besides, this was _his_ home for the week. He shouldn’t have to skulk around to avoid Weasley just because the wizard had decided to show his ugly mug today. 

Draco walked into the kitchen where Granger had thrown her arms around Weasley’s neck. Ginny, Neville, and Dean were there as well, smiling broadly at their friend. 

Weasley had always been tall, but he was broader now than he’d been the last time Draco saw him. His hair was long like Bill’s and he wore a lumpy burgundy jumper that Granger was clutching with her delicate fingers. 

“What are you doing here? How’s Spain?” Granger asked, pulling away from the ginger man and grinning up at him. 

“Haven’t been there in months,” replied Weasley, keeping his arms wrapped around Granger’s waist. 

Perhaps Granger’s file had been correct about her suspected romantic relationships. Draco wondered why this thought annoyed him so much. 

“I was in France for a few weeks after Spain. Madame Maxime sends her regards,” said Weasley, nodding to the others. Draco stayed out of sight behind him, eager to postpone speaking to the wizard for as long as possible. “Then it was Italy, Greece, and Egypt. There were a few assassinations in Italy that kept us busy for a few weeks.” 

Granger beamed at Weasley. “How long are you back?” 

“Just a couple of days. Kingsley wanted us at the meeting tomorrow and then we’ll be leaving for Finland on Sunday.” 

“Who else came back with you?” asked Ginny. 

“Oliver, Padma, and Katie. But they’re all at Headquarters tonight. I asked Kingsley if he’d allow me to come see you and Hermione for the evening.”

“Well, I’m so glad you’re here, even if it is for such a short time,” said Granger, wrapping her arms around his middle again. When she pulled away, her eyes slid over to Draco and her smile faltered. 

Weasley turned around, and when he did, his eyes fell upon Draco. Immediately, the redhead’s expression shifted to one of utter hatred. “Why didn’t anyone tell me the ferret was here?” he spat.

“Probably because it isn’t important. He’s one of us now, Ron. Please be nice,” warned Granger. “Let’s eat, shall we?” she chirped to the group in an effort to diffuse the tension.

Weasley took a few steps towards Draco, his blue eyes sweeping over the Slytherin. “When I heard from Harry that you’d defected I couldn’t fucking believe it.” He leaned a little closer, looming over Draco in a clear attempt to appear more intimidating. Draco stood his ground. “I _still_ don’t fucking believe it.” Weasley glanced over at Granger, who was setting plates on the table, her cheeks pink and her eyes flickering between the two wizards nervously. He looked back at Draco and growled. “You’ll never change.” 

“Some things never do, Weasley,” Draco spat, pushing past the wizard to sit in his usual chair at the table. 

Draco noticed, with some satisfaction, that Granger sat in her typical spot as well—directly next to him, forcing Weasley to pull up a chair between his sister and Dean. 

* * *

Draco woke slowly while it was still quite dark. It was early—far too early to be awake. For a moment, he wondered what had awoken him and then he heard a soft clunking. 

What the hell?

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, wondering where the noise was coming from. He checked his watch to find that it was nearly three in the morning. Everyone should have been asleep. Gradually, he shook the sleep from his head and his senses sharpened. The clunking came from the room next to his—Granger’s room. 

He stood from his bed and picked up his wand from the bedside table. Perhaps there was an intruder and she needed help. Moving slowly to avoid making any noise, he made his way to the wall and pressed his ear against it. The clunking was even and rhythmic, and now that he was closer he could hear other noises accompanying it. 

Breathy sighs and high, throaty moans coming from a girl… coming from _Granger_. Low grunts and groans from another person… a man. 

Draco stumbled back away from the wall with a sneer, his cheeks burning. _Merlin’s balls_ . He’d just heard Granger having sex… and with _Weasley_ of all people. _Disgusting._

Suppressing the desire to vomit, he climbed back into bed, but knew that sleep would not find him again. The clunking of Granger’s bed was growing louder, as well as her breathy sounds of pleasure. He cast a silencing charm on his room, but it was no use. He could still imagine the sound of her. 

He needed a drink. 

Frustrated, he stood up and left his room, walking silently past Granger’s room to make his way down the stairs. Once in the kitchen, he discovered the location of a bottle of firewhiskey and poured himself a generous portion. He sat in the dark and drank for several minutes. How long would he have to sit here? Draco couldn’t imagine that Weasley’s stamina was anything to write home about. Surely it would be safe for him to return to his bedroom soon. 

He was on his second drink when the light flickered on suddenly. Granger shuffled into the kitchen with a yawn and jumped as high as the astronomy tower at the sight of him. “D-Draco, I—” she stammered, her face going beet red instantly. “What are you doing up?” 

Draco took in the sight of her. Her normally unruly curls were positively wild, her lips were somewhat swollen, and worst of all, she was wearing Weasley’s misshapen burgundy jumper. Her fingertips barely peeked out of the sleeves and the bottom of it fell to her thighs. 

She looked so thoroughly shagged. A strange feeling settled within Draco. How long had it been since he’d had a woman? _Ages_ . It’s not like there had been much opportunity at the Manor. A few stolen moments with Pansy had been the last, and that had been at Hogwarts before Voldemort’s death. Sure, she had tried to start things up again with him when she’d taken the mark, but he’d been so preoccupied with his own tasks and the safety of his mother that he hadn’t been interested in the slightest. Now however, it seemed criminal that Granger was having sex more frequently than he was. For Merlin’s sake, she was _Granger._

She tugged at the hem of the sweater as if to make it cover more of her bare skin. Draco had never seen so much of Granger’s legs before. They were shapely and smooth. She shuffled her socked feet in an effort to hide them. In spite of himself, Draco thought, just for a moment, that she looked rather… _adorable._

He quickly banished the thought. _Get it together, you prat. It’s Granger_. 

When he didn’t respond to her, she cleared her throat and pointed to the far wall of the kitchen. “I was just… getting some water.” 

Draco raised his eyebrows at her and she crossed the kitchen and opened the cabinet. The glasses were kept on the top shelf, and as Granger lifted her arm to reach for one, the bottom of the jumper lifted dangerously. Cheeks flushing, she dropped her arm instantly, tugging the jumper down once more. She made another attempt to retrieve a glass, this time rising up onto her toes, but it was no use. She would be unable to reach a glass without exposing herself to him. 

Draco supposed that she could have summoned the cups, but of course, she had likely left her wand upstairs. _Where would she be hiding it, after all?_

Suppressing a chuckle, Draco rose from his chair and took a few steps to the counter. He reached over her and pulled a glass down from the highest shelf. He handed it to her with a smirk and she blushed crimson and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. They were practically chest to chest, and her eyes were the color of bright honey as they flickered back and forth between his own. Her lips were pink and plump, and just for a moment, Draco found himself imagining that he was the one responsible for their swollenness, and not Weasley. 

Granger cleared her throat. “Could you… could you get another one down too?” 

Something within Draco tumbled down into a dark place and his smirk turned to a scowl. She needed a glass for Weasley too, and she needed _him_ to get it for her. Though he was tempted to tell her to get it herself, he pushed his irritation aside and pulled down the second glass. He stepped away from her, suddenly disgusted by her presence near him. 

“Thank you,” she mumbled, avoiding his eyes. 

She filled both cups with water from the tap before turning away from him and leaving the kitchen. 

Draco picked up his firewhiskey and downed the rest of it, feeling it burn his throat. With a wave of his wand, the glass was clean and put away and the bottle returned to the cupboard. He turned off the lights and made his way back upstairs where it was thankfully quiet. 

He climbed into bed and closed his eyes, the haze of the firewhiskey gifting him with quick sleep. 

That night, Draco dreamed of wild chocolate curls and wide honey eyes. A warm, willing body taking in every inch of him, delicate fingers clutching at his back in ecstasy, and hot puffs of air escaping a pair of parted pink lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates on Mondays  
> Next chapter posts: April 13th. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr: graceful-lioness


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and reviewing! It's true that Draco began to feel something other than hatred or ambivalence toward Hermione in the last chapter. Let's see how it plays out!
> 
> And before I get hate for "Ron bashing," I would like to point out that this story is from Draco's POV. And we all know how Draco sees Ron. There will be other stories of mine where Ron will be cast in a much more favorable light, but it won't be this one. But don't worry, Ron will be back abroad and out of Draco's hair very soon.
> 
> Alpha love: Biscuitsforpotter  
> Beta love: Disenchantedglow

Granger was out of sorts the next morning. Every time she looked at Draco, her cheeks would burn crimson and her eyes would dart away from him. He might have thought it was funny if he weren’t so annoyed with her. 

Weasley was even worse. The ginger man walked around all morning like he was king of the fucking world. He had fully embraced his bedraggled look—hair sticking up in all directions, a thin t-shirt, and pajama bottoms which sat far too low on his narrow hip bones—and a smug grin stretched across his face all through breakfast. More than once before lunch, Draco found himself sneering behind Weasley’s back. Couldn’t the man at least be a little more subtle about his conquest? For Granger’s sake if nothing else? 

Draco’s opportunity to knock Weasley down a peg came after lunch, when Ginny suggested that they play a game of Quidditch. Eager to best her brother, Ginny asked Draco to be on her team, leaving Ron paired with Dean. 

Ginny was better than her brother in all ways, but, most importantly for Draco, in Quidditch. It helped that Ginny and Draco had been flying one-on-one games at least once a week for the past month. Draco knew how she flew and what she was capable of on a broom. 

The red headed girl had finally stopped glaring at Draco when she realized that he was her only decent flying companion in the house. Gradually, the two had formed the same careful civility that he shared with Granger. 

Weasley was a fair Keeper, but he was rusty and didn’t stand much chance against Ginny’s skills as a Chaser. The more points she scored against her brother, the more frustrated he became. Soon, his face matched his burgundy jumper from exhaustion and ire. 

After twenty minutes, the score was 40-10 in favor of Draco’s team. Ginny passed Draco the Quaffle and he raced across the garden toward the rings they had drawn in the air magically. He rolled on his broom to avoid Dean. Nearly within scoring distance, Draco adjusted his grip to prepare to make his shot when he was suddenly hit hard in the side by a blur of burgundy and ginger hair. 

All of the air was forced from his lungs and he tumbled off his broom, falling through the air. He braced himself for impact with the ground and his impending broken limbs. 

“ _ Arresto Momentum _ !” a voice cried hysterically. 

His fall slowed, and he landed lightly on the grassy lawn. Laying back, he took stock of his body. He gingerly moved his fingers and toes, wrists and ankles, and finally knees and elbows. No broken limbs, but his side hurt like hell. He coughed, wincing at the stabbing pain that shot through his ribcage. 

Granger kneeled beside him. “Are you hurt?” she asked, her eyes fearful on his body. She was out of breath, and Draco wondered if she had run to him. 

“No, I’m fantastic,” Draco wheezed, clutching his injured side. Granger gently moved his hands away and began pressing her fingers lightly into each of his ribs. When she reached his fourth rib from the top he flinched, sucking in air through his teeth. 

“That was a foul, Ron!” Ginny shouted, landing her broom and pointing viciously at her brother. 

“I was just playing defense,” Ron countered, still flying in circles above them. “He’s fine. Just keep playing.” 

“I think you’ve broken a rib,” Granger tutted.

“I’m lucky he didn’t kill me,” Draco seethed. 

“Don’t be dramatic. You weren’t that far off the ground,” Granger replied, rolling her eyes. 

“Then why did you slow me down?” 

“The harder you fall the more bones I have to mend for you. My motivations were purely selfish, I assure you,” she said, her eyes meeting his with a smirk. 

He laughed, immediately regretting it when his rib stabbed into him again. 

“Come on, let’s get you inside and fixed up. Can you stand?” 

With Granger’s help, Draco pushed himself to his feet with great effort and pain. 

“I guess that means you forfeit?” Weasley called after him as he shuffled toward the house. 

“Are you insane?” Granger snapped. 

“We won, Ron!” Ginny shouted, following Draco and Granger up the back steps. “Don’t be a sore loser.” 

Granger led Draco to the couch and helped him lie down. 

“Hermione’s an amazing healer. She’ll get you patched up in no time,” Ginny assured him with a smile. “Shame Ron leaves tomorrow. I’d love to do a rematch and have Gryfferin really kick his arse.” 

“Gryfferin?” Draco queried. 

“Gryffindor… Slytherin,” said Ginny, gesturing to herself and then to him. “ _ Gryfferin _ . I figured it would be a good team name for us.” 

Draco considered this for a moment. “I think I would prefer Slytherdor,” he smirked. 

Ginny laughed. “I’m sure you would, but I named the team, so I think I should get first billing.” She wandered back through the kitchen and into the back garden again. 

Draco turned his attention back to Granger, who was frowning at him. “Could you remove your shirt, please?” she requested, her cheeks going a bit pink. 

Carefully pulling his jumper over his head, he saw a horrible purple bruise already spreading across his ribcage. 

Granger bit her lip and pulled out her wand. She muttered a few spells that he did not recognize before telling him, “Well, luckily you haven’t punctured your lung. It’s just the broken rib. I’ll set it with a spell and then give you a topical potion for the bruising and another potion for you to drink that will heal the bone.” 

Draco nodded. 

“The spell will hurt, but only for a moment,” she told him, pointing her wand at the broken rib. “Are you ready?” 

“Do it,” Draco growled through gritted teeth. Granger muttered a spell and there was a loud crack and a snap of pain. He shouted out, “Fuck!” 

“I warned you,” Granger murmured with an apologetic smile. “I’ll be right back with those potions.” She stood up and hurried upstairs, returning a moment later with a small phial, a little jar of pale yellow salve, and some gauze wrappings. She uncorked the phial and handed it to him. “Drink this,” she ordered. 

He did as he was told, suppressing a cough at the harsh fluid. Granger sat back down on the edge of the couch and took the lid off of the small container of salve she held. She scooped a bit onto her fingertips and began to rub it into his bruised flesh. 

He flinched at her touch and she pulled her fingers back. “I’m sorry. Does that hurt?” 

Draco shook his head. “No,” he whispered. 

Honey eyes flickered to his for a moment before returning her attention to his bruise. She rubbed in small circles, adding extra salve to the darkest areas, returning to the container to retrieve more several times. 

Draco cleared his throat. “Your boyfriend has quite the temper, Granger.” 

Her fingers stilled for a moment. “Oh…” she muttered shakily, her hand resuming its circles. “Er… Ron’s not my…” she trailed off, a blush creeping up her neck. “We’re not…” She pulled her hand away from him and returned the lid to the container. “He can be very competitive, that’s all,” she said, and Draco wondered if she was still talking about Quidditch. 

She reached for the gauze. “Can you sit up? I’d like to wrap your ribs to help the salve sink in properly and give you a bit of support until the bone is fully healed.” 

Draco pushed himself to sit up straight and lifted his arms so that Granger could begin to wrap the gauze around him. “Ginny seemed very confident in your abilities as a healer. You really think you’re that good?” 

Granger paused and grinned at him. “I’m not good. I'm  _ excellent _ ,” she said teasingly. 

He rolled his eyes and she continued to wrap. With each circle, she had to lean close to him to swathe the gauze around his torso, and with each revolution, her hair tickled his chest. He held his breath until she sat up straight, securing the gauze with a spell. “All done,” she announced. “How does it feel?” 

Testing his mended rib, Draco took a deep breath and bent side to side a bit. It was a little sore, but certainly much less painful than it had been before she healed him. “Much better,” he determined. 

Hermione stood and gathered the container of salve and empty phial. “It should be completely healed in a day or two. If the bruising is still bad tomorrow I can give you more salve.” 

Draco nodded and pulled his jumper back over his head. “Thanks.”

Granger waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t mention it.” 

“Hermione,” came Weasley’s clipped voice from the kitchen. Granger’s head snapped up and her cheeks went a bit pink. “Can I talk to you?” 

Draco’s mood soured again as she hurried away from him to meet Weasley.  _ One more day, _ thought Draco. One more day of this and then the Weasel would be gone again. Sent back to whatever Order missions he worked abroad. If he was going to survive the day without throttling the other man, Draco decided that he would simply need to stay away from the ginger menace. He trudged up the stairs and back to his bedroom, determined to see his other housemates as little as possible over the next few hours. 

That evening, the residents of the Longbottom house travelled together to Headquarters for the weekly Order meeting. Draco sat in his usual spot along the outer wall of the dining room. Tonight, Ginny sat on his right and Cho on his left. The two witches chatted across him about Quidditch and their recent missions, occasionally including Draco in the conversation as well. 

It seemed that with each weekly meeting, he was greeted with less and less hostility and suspicion from his new allies. Draco was relieved by this development. It made it much easier for him to sit quietly and listen for any news of his mother, Theo, or Pansy. 

“Many of you know about the battle that took place yesterday in Bibury,” said Shacklebolt after catching everyone up on the most pressing issues. “We were able to apprehend several Death Eaters. One of these men, Snyde, was stunned after the battle by Malfoy. This morning he was interrogated under the influence of Veritaserum. He did not have much information for us. It seems that he was not high enough in the ranks to have access to valuable knowledge.” 

The Minister’s eyes flickered around the table before he continued. “However, we did learn that he was sent to Bibury, not to participate in the battle like the others, but to make an attempt on the life of one of our own.” 

Several heads turned towards Potter, who appeared to be bracing himself for the news that yet another Death Eater wanted him dead. 

“Hermione,” said Shacklebolt. “It seems you are being targeted.” 

Granger’s mouth fell open and her eyes grew wide. Quiet, shocked murmurs bounced around the room. “Me, sir?” Granger squeaked. “Why?” 

“I don’t know. And what’s more, Snyde didn’t know either. It seems that he was not told why he was required to kill you. He was merely following orders from Dolohov,” explained Shacklebolt. 

Granger’s eyes flickered to Draco for a moment, and he could practically see the thoughts and theories bouncing around in her mind. She looked away from him again and back to the Minister. “What should I do?” she asked. 

“I would like to assign a protective detail to you for the time being. Until we know more about why you are being targeted we will need to be extra cautious. You will not be sent on any potentially dangerous missions. You should know your main priority. Is that understood?” 

Draco watched as comprehension dawned in Granger’s eyes. She nodded seriously.

What had that been about? What was her priority? Was that the reason he had been asked to target her? 

Not that he had any plans to tell Granger how close he had come to making her another one of his victims… 

Shacklebolt addressed the entire room again. “If anyone has any ideas as to why Hermione is a target, please inform me immediately. I’ll read out the lodging assignments and then I would like to talk with Hermione, as well as Harry, Charlie, Bill, and Draco about her protective detail.” 

Draco blinked. Shacklebolt wanted  _ him _ to be a part of Granger’s protective detail? The Minister knew what Draco had done with the Death Eaters and still wanted him watching over the Golden Girl? 

Shacklebolt withdrew a list from his robes and unfurled it. One by one, he listed off everyone’s safehouse assignments for the week. Draco would be with Granger at the Longbottom house again along with Potter, Finnegan, and Lovegood. 

Once the Minister had dismissed everyone else, Draco moved to sit at the table for the very first time. He sat across from Granger, whose eyes were downcast. One of her fingers absentmindedly ran repeatedly over a small groove in the table’s surface. Weasley was arguing with Shacklebolt, demanding to be a part of the meeting for Granger’s protection. 

“No,” Shacklebolt said firmly. “This meeting is for her protective team only. Seeing as you’re leaving for Finland tomorrow morning, that disqualifies you.” 

“Please, sir,” Weasley protested, growing red in the face. 

“Absolutely not. If you are privy to this information and are then captured, it could put Hermione at greater risk. We must keep the circle small. Now, if you don’t mind…” the Minister gestured toward the door and gave Weasley a stern look. 

With a scowl, Weasley stalked out of the room, closing the door a bit too loudly behind him. 

Shacklebolt waved his wand, magically sealing and silencing the room. “Now,” he began, taking a seat at the head of the table. “I am hoping that having Mr. Malfoy here will help to shed some light on a few things.” 

Draco’s stomach twisted as all of the men’s eyes fell upon him. Surely Shacklebolt was not about to tell everyone that he had been an assassin. Granger had still not looked up from the groove in the table. Her brow was furrowed and she appeared to be thinking deeply. 

“Do you know anything about how they might plan an attack?” Shacklebolt asked. 

Shifting in his chair, Draco chose his words carefully. “I know that the Death Eaters view the Order properties as impenetrable. I don’t think they know where our safehouses or headquarters are and therefore will not be able to reach Granger while she is there.” He paused, looking around the table before continuing. “St. Mungo’s is a bit more vulnerable, so we should definitely make sure that she is protected while working. It would be extremely risky for them to make an attempt on her life in such a public place, but if they’re training morons like Snyde to be assassins, then it’s possible. Honestly, she’ll be most vulnerable on her walk to and from the hospital every day. Out in the open and alone. If Granger isn’t going to be going on any missions for a while, then her commute to and from St. Mungo’s is their best opportunity for an attack.” 

Draco sat back in his chair, signalling to Shacklebolt that he was finished speaking. A second later, Granger’s head snapped up, her eyes going wide with sudden realization. Her head tilted to the side and her eyes narrowed slightly. Her lips parted briefly and she took in a little gasp of air before closing her mouth and looking away from him. 

“I will see what can be done about approving a safer commute for you, Hermione. Perhaps that is something that we should have looked into long ago,” said Shacklebolt, shaking his head. “I would also like to be sure that one of these wizards is with you at all times.” 

“Sir, is that really necessary?” Granger asked. “Surely there are more important things for them to be doing.” 

Shacklebolt frowned at her. “The threat against you is extremely serious, Hermione. If it weren’t for the quick actions of Mr. Malfoy, you may very well be dead.” 

Granger’s cheeks flushed and her misty eyes flickered to Draco once more. 

“We will do what we must to keep you safe, and I expect you to obey the protocols we decide upon today. Is that understood?” 

Granger nodded. “Yes, sir,” she mumbled sheepishly. 

For the next hour, the five wizards and Granger worked out the details of her protective detail. Draco was on duty for the next three days and then Potter would take over after that. They would all take turns, three days at a time, watching over Granger until they could be sure that the threat to her life had passed. Draco braced himself for the possibility that it would be the end of the war before the threat was removed. 

When Shacklebolt dismissed them, Draco stood and waited for Granger to join him. She dawdled with her bag for a moment, her eyes flickering to him a couple of times before finally standing and walking to the door to meet him. 

“Ready to go?” he asked a bit gruffly. The prospect of watching over Granger was not something that excited him. He’d gotten a brief glimpse of freedom, but being her bodyguard was just another form of prison in his mind. At least he would only be on duty for the next three days. 

Granger nodded and hurried out the door. 

Lovegood and Finnegan were waiting for them by the fire. Once Potter caught up to them, holding the Portkey issued by Shacklebolt, the five all gathered together and were whisked away to the Longbottom house. 

Draco spent twenty minutes or so setting wards on Granger’s room with Potter’s help. If anyone attempted to gain access to her bedroom or if she tried to sneak out, Draco would be alerted until his shift had ended. 

Granger scowled while they worked. “Am I to have any privacy anymore?” she pouted. 

Turning to her, Draco gave her a serious look. “The room is still yours. You can come and go as you please, we just need to know where you are. We assume the safehouses will be secure enough, but can never be absolutely certain.” 

“That should do it,” Potter announced as he pocketed his wand and turned away from Granger’s bedroom door. “I’ve done the window as well.” 

“Thanks,” Granger grumbled before walking past them into her room and closing the door with a snap. 

Granger would certainly be a charming delight to protect. Draco rolled his eyes and walked down the stairs with Potter. The two wizards entered the kitchen and Draco sank into a chair at the table with a sigh. 

“Fancy a drink?” Potter offered, extracting a bottle of Firewhiskey from the cabinet. 

“Shouldn’t you be telling me to stay sober if I’m on duty?” Draco pointed out as Potter placed two empty tumblers on the table. 

“One drink won’t kill you,” Potter determined, pouring a bit into each glass. “Or are you a terrible lightweight?” 

Draco glanced up at the Auror to see a small smirk playing at his lips. Rolling his eyes, Draco just picked up his glass to take a sip. The amber liquid warmed his throat and relaxed his mind. 

“Listen, Malfoy,” Potter said, sitting across from him. “I know you don’t care about Hermione. I’m not sure why Kingsley thought you should be on her protection detail, but I hope that your personal feelings toward her won’t affect your commitment.” 

Personal feelings… Draco considered those words. Did he hate Granger as he had when he arrived? Perhaps not as fiercely, but he refused to even think that he may have any sort of fondness for her. She was still a swotty know-it-all, afterall. But would he let her be killed by Death Eaters? No. It was his job to protect her now, and he intended to do just that. 

“Potter, you don’t need to worry about it. Granger won’t be murdered on my watch. You have my word,” Draco promised. 

Potter regarded him carefully for a moment before nodding. “I guess I don’t have to tell you what will happen to you if you’re lying,” he warned. 

“No, Potter. You don’t need to give me the overprotective father routine. I’ll keep her safe.”

A pulsing in Draco’s wand hand began suddenly, alerting him to Granger exiting the wards of her room. 

Draco stood and grabbed his glass before walking up the stairs. The brunette witch was standing outside of his bedroom door, a frown playing at her lips. She turned when he approached, her eyes flickering back and forth between his. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” she asked hesitantly. 

With a nod, he reached past her to open his bedroom door, gesturing for her to enter the room. He followed her inside and closed the door. “If you’re going to ask if someone else can watch over you, you’ll have to take it up with Shacklebolt or Potter,” Draco said. 

“No, that’s not it,” Granger said, shaking her head. 

Draco waited for her to speak. He hated that she was making a habit of coming to his room and shuffling her feet awkwardly without just coming out with it. “Then what is it?” he probed. 

“I just… I don’t understand,” Granger said vaguely. “Why am I the one being targeted? Wouldn’t they want Harry more than me? Or even you!” 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Granger,” Draco said gruffly. 

“I just don’t understand why this is happening now. I haven’t done anything!” 

Draco hesitated. With a heavy sigh, he ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know why they want you, but I do know that this didn’t just happen. You’ve been a target for months.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Since before I joined the Order.” 

Granger backed up a few steps, wringing her hands. Her eyes were downcast but darted about as her mind tried to work out the implications of his words. He knew that she was just mere seconds from solving the puzzle. “You—!” she gasped. “You were going to… to… ” 

There it was: The horrifying truth that he had been trying to conceal from everyone for nearly three months. Draco cleared his throat, but did not reply. 

“The day before Kingsley brought you to that first Order meeting,” she began, her voice wavering. “I could have sworn someone was following me. Oh, Merlin…” 

“I told you your commute was vulnerable,” Draco said evenly. 

Her eyes flickered up to meet his in shock and Draco noted with horror that they were filled with tears. “You were going to kill me.” Her voice was slow and even, but he could hear the terror behind it. 

Draco said nothing. 

“But you didn’t,” she concluded. 

Again, he remained silent. 

“Why?” she asked. 

_ Why? _ In honesty he didn’t know why. He had thought of that moment many times over the past couple of months and could still not pinpoint any logical reason why he hadn’t cast the spell that would have ended her life. 

Seconds ticked by and still he had not answered her. He knew that anything he said to her would be analyzed in detail for every possible explanation. Perhaps she would assume that he had a heart, a heart that felt something other than deep hatred for her. That there was more to him than a skilled assassin. Sadly, it wasn’t true. Dolohov had seen to that. Any human emotion for anything and anyone other than his mother had been suppressed in his training, reduced to mere dust to make way for the High Minister’s most deadly weapon:  _ him.  _

“If you want to know why you’re a target, you should think about things you did around that day. Perhaps you offended someone. Though Dolohov doesn’t typically indulge his followers’ personal vendettas. Maybe you saw something that seemed trivial at the time but was actually very important. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” He took a few steps toward the exit and opened the door, hoping that she would take the hint that the conversation was over. 

Granger frowned, but walked to the door. On her way out, she placed her hand gently on his arm, pausing to look up at him with wide eyes. 

Draco stared back at her, holding his breath. Heat spread through his sleeve from her warm hand. 

“Thank you,” she said at last. Horror still filled her teary eyes, but there was something else there as well. A look that Draco wasn’t sure he would ever understand. 

The dust stirred within him; something long forgotten breathing new life again. Mouth too dry to speak, Draco just nodded and took a step back until she walked through the door and left him alone in his dark room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Monday. Next Chapter: April 20th
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr: graceful-lioness to send me asks and tell me your thoughts and theories!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your feedback so far! I really do read everyone's comments even if I'm truly shit at replying to them. As always, the best way to get a response from me is to leave me an ask or message on Tumblr (graceful-lioness) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this one! I feel it wise to mention now that certain elements of this story were inspired by the TV show Homeland. Just small things, but if you're a fan of the show and something feels familiar, that's why! I'm giving credit where credit is due. Several of these events will unfold within the next three chapters. 
> 
> As always, Alpha love to BiscuitsforPotter and beta love to DisenchatedGlow! This story wouldn't be what it is without their careful attention!

In the wake of Granger’s realization, Draco fully expected to be taken off of her protection detail and moved to another safe house far from her. So it came as a great surprise the next morning when she greeted him at the kitchen table with a thin smile and sat across from him to eat her breakfast in peace. 

Draco watched her as she bit into her toast and flipped through  _ The Daily Prophet.  _ How could she do that? Sit across from the man who had almost killed her with as much ease as sitting with a friend? 

Setting down his coffee, he cleared his throat and her eyes lifted to his face. “Would you like me to talk to Potter about taking over your protection detail?” he offered, forcing his voice to remain steady and business-like. 

Her brow furrowed and her eyes darted around his face, never quite meeting his eyes. “What do you mean?” 

“Surely you don’t want me—” 

“Oh,” she interrupted. “No, there’s no need for that. The protection detail can remain the same.” She turned back to the paper dismissively. 

“What?” Draco bit out incredulously. 

“The protection detail can—"

“No, I heard you the first time,” snapped Draco. “Why do you still want me on the team?” 

She sighed and closed the paper, looking up at him once more. Glancing over her shoulder toward the common area, she pulled her wand and muttered a quick  _ Muffliato _ before turning back to him. “Look, the way I see it, you would have killed me months ago if you had wanted to. Hell, you could have done it that day on the street, but you didn’t. If you were sent here to murder me, I would be six feet under and cold already.”

“Unless it was my mission to get information from you first,” he pointed out. 

Granger’s head tilted to the side thoughtfully for a moment before she shook it. “I would imagine that obtaining information wasn’t your responsibility within the Death Eaters. Didn’t you say everyone has specific roles? Your job wasn’t to get information. You’re not a spy. You’re an assassin.” She paused briefly before adding, “ _ Were  _ an assassin.” 

She was right, of course. She always was. 

“Plus, you passed Kingsley’s tests and Veritaserum interrogation,” she added before taking another bite of toast. 

Draco sat dumbfounded as she finished chewing and swallowing the bite. 

“You also  _ told _ me you wouldn’t kill me,” she said with a smile. 

Draco scoffed at her naivety. “And you believed me?”

Granger shrugged. “I did. I guess I…  _ trust _ you.” She grimaced like the thought was a bit ridiculous. “I don’t know how it happened, Malfoy, but somehow you’re about as scary to me as a Pygmy Puff. I know you’re a dangerous man, but I really don’t think you’re here to hurt me.” 

_ Trust _ . She trusted him. Trusted him like he was a good person, like he was a decent man. 

Like he wasn’t a  _ killer.  _

Draco wasn’t sure why, but the idea that he had somehow earned her trust actually made him angry. Irrationally so, perhaps, but angry all the same. 

He had done absolutely nothing to prove his trustworthiness to her. Years of living the kind of life he led had taught him that trust should only be reserved for one’s closest confidants. To trust someone without really knowing them was completely ridiculous. And why would she trust him at all? Because she knew his secrets? If anything, each secret of his that she discovered should have been a good reason to  _ never _ trust him. 

He was a Death Eater. An assassin. A man who had very nearly murdered her. 

Yet Granger somehow still claimed that she trusted him. 

He was forced to come to only one conclusion: Contrary to popular belief, Hermione Granger was a very stupid witch. 

~*~*~

Granger’s protection that day was simple enough. She remained locked in her room for several hours, curious smells wafting from the doorway, accompanied by the sound of a bubbling cauldron. It was such a common occurrence that he hardly gave it any thought. 

Draco passed his time reading and conversing with the other members of the household. Once, he asked Potter what Granger did all day and what kind of potions she was working on. 

“I think it’s just work stuff,” Potter said dismissively. “Replenishing her personal supply of healing potions.” 

If that were true, why did she always lock the door so that not even her protective detail could enter? Draco had attempted to argue that it was unsafe for him to be barred from her quarters. What if there was an emergency and Death Eaters found a way into her room through the warded window? He would be unable to reach her in time. 

“I trust your wards to keep me safe,” she replied. “I can’t let you into my room while I’m working. It’s highly classified. Take it up with Kingsley if you have a problem.” 

Potter said it was just healer work. Granger said it was classified for the Order. Which was it? If it truly was Order work, as Draco suspected was the truth, what kind of potion could be so important that it would need to be kept secret?

Was this the priority that Shacklebolt had mentioned? 

On Monday, Draco accompanied Granger to St. Mungo’s. Shacklebolt had approved transport for them by Portkey to keep the commute safe. Granger was in a foul mood as Draco followed her from the lobby to the lifts and up to the fourth floor. When he insisted on searching the employee lounge thoroughly before she made her morning cuppa, she grumbled and rolled her eyes. Though he tried not to get in her way as she did her morning rounds, it was his job to keep her safe. Thus, he had to secure not only the lounge, but every room Granger entered, including each of her patient’s rooms.

Draco stayed back, posing as a Healer in training while Granger was in patient rooms, to keep from raising alarm. Granger’s supervisor was aware of her need for protection, but had advised them to be as discreet as possible to avoid causing a panic. 

Watching Granger with her patients was fascinating. While she had been short-tempered and irritable with him since his protective duties had begun, she proved to have a rather remarkable bedside manner. He was particularly surprised to see how wonderful she was with children. Even the sickest children—the ones with severe spell damage and potion infusions in their arms—seemed to cheer up a bit when she entered their rooms. The way she explained diagnoses and treatments to these children and their families seemed to bring them comfort rather than distress.

Guarding the Gryffindor golden girl was not difficult work, but at the end of each day he crawled into bed exhausted from his constant vigilance. On Tuesday evening, Draco’s shift ended and her protective detail was passed to Potter. The following morning, Draco was reassigned to the Westenberg house and for the first time since he joined the Order, he was not staying with Granger. 

Although nearly everyone in the Order had grown used to his company, Draco still felt a bit out of place without Granger. She had been the only constant in his life since he had defected. Now that they were stationed at different houses everything just seemed a bit… quiet. 

He passed his days off of Granger’s protective duty by performing other tasks for the Order—reconnaissance missions mostly—and enjoying some precious solitude. 

While the Order typically kept members at the same safe house for a full week, Granger’s protective detail caused people to move around much more frequently. People were always coming and going from the houses these days, and Draco could hardly keep up with who was at the same house as him. By his next shift with Granger, at least ten Order members had rotated through the Westenberg house. 

As the weeks dragged on, Draco fell into a comfortable—if a bit chaotic—routine. Three days guarding Granger followed by nine days off and performing other tasks for the Order. He moved around quite a bit. Mostly he alternated between the Westenberg house and the Longbottom house, but occasionally he would spend a few days at Shell Cottage or Headquarters. Granger stayed at the Longbottom house and was only permitted to leave to go to work and the weekly meetings. Her guards would cycle in and out of the house every three days, sometimes overlapping for a day or so. 

With each shift, Draco and Granger grew more comfortable together. It was inevitable, he determined, that they would put their differences aside for the sake of a harmonious environment. After spending so much time with her, Draco no longer thought it was as entertaining to rile her up just for the sake of having a bit of fun. Not only had arguments with Granger lost their novel excitement, but he found that she was much more pleasant to be around when she wasn’t snarling at him. They ate meals together and sometimes talked about trivial things over a drink late at night. He could tell when she was particularly bored, as she would look for people to talk to. Draco rarely slept, so he was often the only option for her late night conversations. Overall, he and Granger were very… domestic. 

While Granger spent most of her days locked in her room, she also could be seen reading, chatting with other housemates in the common areas, or bundling up to sit outside while the others played Quidditch. Draco sat dutifully outside her door as she worked on her mystery potion, read books that Granger let him borrow, or played Quidditch while she watched or read nearby. Sadly, as winter approached and the days grew cold, flying was no longer an option, and the young Order members were forced inside. They played chess and Exploding Snap by a warm fire in the living room while they waited for missions or orders to come from Headquarters. 

As December brought in a cold chill and the first flurries of snow, Draco found himself once again guarding Granger’s locked bedroom door at the Longbottom house as the sounds of a bubbling potion drifted into the hallway where he sat. After over a month of watching her, he was still no closer to understanding her task. It must have been a terribly difficult problem to keep her perplexed and working for this long without much success that he was aware of. 

“Fucking hell,” Granger’s frustrated groan came from beyond the wall. Draco looked up from his book in surprise. Granger only cursed like that when she was truly angry. A moment later, the door opened and she emerged, her hair twice its normal size. She pulled the door closed behind her and stared at him. “I’ve got to get out of here,” she sighed desperately. 

“Let’s go play chess or something,” Draco suggested. 

“No,” she groaned. “I mean out of this house. I’m going crazy, Malfoy. I’ve been cooped up here for months. I have to get outside and away from this place.” Her eyes were pleading. 

Was she really asking him to let her go somewhere outside of the Order’s protective wards? It was strictly against protocol to let her go anywhere other than St. Mungo’s without Shacklebolt’s permission. “You know I can’t let you do that, Granger,” he warned. 

She fell to her knees in front of his chair, her hands clutching his forearm. “Please,” she begged. “You can come too. It will be fine! We can go somewhere unknown in Muggle London. I just  _ have _ to get out of this house.” 

Draco stared at her in surprise, taking in her wide, pleading eyes. She didn’t usually touch him so freely. He glanced at her hands on him and she withdrew them, her cheeks going red. 

“Please, Malfoy… Draco,” she breathed. 

He thought for a moment, imagining how she must have felt. At least he had the opportunity to get out every now and then on Order missions when he was not guarding her. He was sure that he would be going just as crazy if he had been cooped up for the past six weeks. “Fine,” he sighed. 

Her eyes lit up and she bounced to her feet. “Really?” 

Draco stood and pointed at her seriously. “But you do exactly as I say. And if I get even one whiff of trouble we’ll leave right away. Understood?” 

Granger nodded, grinning broadly. “Of course,” she chirped. “Give me just a minute and I’ll be ready to go.” She disappeared back into her room and Draco went into his own chamber to dress in Muggle clothes for their outing. He chose a thick jumper and a knit hat to keep warm and cover his distinguishable hair. He grabbed his overcoat and pocketed his wand before returning to the corridor. 

Granger waited for him in her own Muggle clothes with her hair pulled back. 

“Do you know a place?” Draco asked as they descended the stairs together. 

“Not really. But I know a little area that’s busy enough for us to blend in, but out of the way so we shouldn’t run into any other witches or wizards who might recognize us.” 

“Just as long as you do as I say while we’re there,” Draco told her as they exited the house and passed beyond the wards. “Lead the way,” he said, holding out his arm for her. 

She looped her hand around his bicep and apparated them to London. 

They arrived in an alley and Granger maintained her grip on Draco's arm as they made their way onto the narrow street. It wasn’t particularly busy, but a few Muggles nodded in their direction as they passed with their shopping bags. 

The shops were all shimmering with Christmas decorations to lure shoppers inside to purchase gifts for loved ones. Granger’s eyes lit up as she took it in. “Oh, Christmas!” she cried, as if she had forgotten the holiday existed. 

How would they spend the holiday this year? He mentally counted the days between now and Christmas day. Today was his last day on protective duty, meaning that he would take over Granger’s guard again on Christmas Eve. He would be spending the holiday with her. 

Would the Order celebrate at all? Maybe they exchanged gifts and had a party with eggnog and elf-made wine. Or perhaps the day would pass as any other, with missions and meetings and sitting outside Granger’s door as she worked on her potions. 

“Fancy a drink?” she offered as they passed a small pub. 

“I don’t have any Muggle money,” he told her, eyes scanning the street for suspicious people. 

“I have some. Come on, it’s cold out here.” She guided him into the little restaurant and tried to sit down at a table by the window. 

“No,” he said gruffly, pulling her away from the sun soaked table towards the back of the pub. There was a small table for two tucked away near the kitchens. Draco was sure that there was likely a back entrance through the kitchen that they could use in the event of an emergency. “Sit here,” he ordered, pointing to the seat which would leave her back to the rest of the pub. He sat across from her. From there he could see the entire dining area and the entrance. He still felt exposed, but he was confident that no one would find them unless they were looking. 

A petite, blonde waitress made her way over to the table. “Anything to drink?” she chirped. 

Draco hesitated. He had never been in a Muggle pub before. Did they have fire whiskey? Surely elf-made wine was out of the question. 

Granger didn’t miss a beat. “Whiskey, Draco?” 

He nodded, and Granger turned back to the waitress. “He’ll have the eighteen year Macallan, neat. And for me,” she glanced at the menu. “The house Merlot will do fine.” 

“Great,” the waitress returned with a smile. “I’ll be right back with those.” She floated away and Granger turned back to Draco. 

“I hope you like what I ordered for you. It’s what my dad used to drink on special occasions,” she told him. A subtle kind of sadness passed behind her eyes as she mentioned her father. Had he died? 

“Is it a special occasion?” Draco queried, raising an eyebrow. 

Granger smiled. “Aside from the fact that I’m out of the house for the first time in months, no. I just assumed that you would only like top shelf liquor.” 

Draco chuckled. “Why? Because I’m rich?” 

Granger’s cheeks burned. “Well… yes, I suppose. Am I wrong?” 

Draco shrugged. “Most likely not. To be honest, I’ve never actually had any cheap alcohol.” 

Granger laughed—a high, free sound that left him blinking. He had never made her laugh before. It left him with an odd feeling in his stomach. 

“Eighteen-year Macallan,” the waitress announced, setting a glass in front of Draco. “And the Merlot.” 

“Thank you,” Granger replied with a smile. 

As the waitress left, Draco took a sip of his whiskey. It was smooth and warmed him, but in a different way than firewhiskey. 

“What do you think?” Granger asked. 

Draco shrugged. “Well, it’s not Ogden’s Finest, but it’s not bad.” 

She smiled and took a sip of her wine. 

“How’s your wine?” he asked politely. 

“It’s good,” she chirped. “Although, I’ll admit that my palate isn’t particularly refined. I can’t really taste much difference between cheap wine and an expensive one. I just like what I like.” 

“Wine tasting isn’t a common pastime for the Order?” Draco teased. 

“Not at all. We’re lucky we even have anything to drink at the safe houses,” Granger chuckled. “Kingsley threatened to ban it not long after the Battle of Hogwarts. Too many people were coping with the war by getting pissed all the time. In the end though, he just decided to limit it and have a few serious discussions about responsibility and vigilance with everyone.” 

Draco understood Shacklebolt’s concern. In the wake of The Dark Lord’s death, he had also turned to drink to ease the blow of everything that was happening in the world. But once his training began, he hated how vulnerable he always felt while drunk. He would still have a drink now and again, but he couldn’t remember the last time he had been properly pissed. 

But they were getting into dangerously serious conversation. Draco quickly steered them away from talking about the war and back to lighter subjects. “Your way of drinking is probably more enjoyable than the one I was raised on anyway,” he remarked before taking another sip of the amber liquid. 

Granger smiled. “Cheaper too.” She tipped her glass in his direction as if in a toast before bringing it to her lips. 

“I would imagine that you probably make pretty decent money as a Healer,” he mused. 

“I’m comfortable,” she replied. “But I prefer to save as much money as I can. When the war is over I would like to be able to afford a small house of my own. It’s not too hard to save while living with the Order. Day to day expenses are virtually nonexistent.” 

Good thing, too. Draco hadn’t been able to bring much money with him when he left the Manor, and going to Gringotts was far too risky these days for Order members. He tried not to think about all of the Malfoy riches and assets that had been at the Manor when he had been forced to abandon it. Surely the Death Eaters had cleaned it out when they left. If not, the Ministry had almost certainly seized everything as evidence. 

“How have your other missions been going?” Granger asked conversationally. Her voice was low to avoid being overheard, but Draco could tell that she was just asking to have something to talk about. 

“Nothing too dangerous or exciting,” Draco said offhandedly. “I retrieved a couple of stolen artifacts last week. Simple job, really.” 

“Were you involved in the battle last month?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with the hope of some details of the outside world. 

Draco shook his head. “No. I think only the people stationed at Headquarters were sent to that one. I was at Shell Cottage that week.” 

“Oh, how was it?” Granger sighed wistfully. “I haven’t been in so long.” 

“Fine,” Draco said shortly. He could tell by the look on her face that she wanted more from him, so he humoured her with a few more details. “Fleur seemed a bit stressed. She’s trying to convince Shacklebolt to reduce the number of members stationed there so that she can get a room ready for the baby.” 

“Baby?” Granger balked, eyes flying wide. “Fleur’s pregnant?” 

Had she really not known? Gossip seemed to spread so quickly through the Order it was amazing that anyone had any secrets at all. And after all, Bill was one of her guards. Why hadn’t he told her? “Erm… yes. About four months along, I think,” he replied. 

“Four months,” Granger breathed. She sat back in her chair, looking a bit stunned. “I can’t believe Bill didn’t tell me! Or Ginny—she was around last week.” 

“I’m surprised too. I guess everyone may have assumed you already knew,” Draco said with a shrug. 

After a moment of thought, Granger smiled. “How wonderful for her,” she sighed dreamily. Then the smile slipped from her face. “Can you imagine bringing a child into this world?” 

Draco had never given much thought at all to having children. Before the war he had simply known that it was his duty as a Malfoy to produce a pureblood heir, but he had never really considered if he actually  _ wanted _ children. It was simply expected that he would have at least one. Now, however, it couldn’t be less of a priority for him. He could imagine how the war would be a deterrent for many people, as it seemed to be for Granger. “Honestly, I can’t really imagine having children at all,” he said stiffly. 

“Never?” Granger blinked. 

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m nineteen. I don’t really see myself as particularly paternal. Maybe one day… once all of this is over.” 

Granger nodded, swirling her wine glass a bit, staring into the red liquid. 

“I suppose you want a whole Quidditch team’s worth of Weasley brats to call your own one day?” Draco mused with a bit too much venom. 

Granger’s eyes shot to his, red spreading across her cheeks. “I—I…” she stammered before shutting her mouth quickly. She shook her head stiffly and took a big gulp of her wine, grimacing as she swallowed. “No,” she finished firmly, her eyes darting away from him. She placed her glass on the table, still holding the stem firmly between her fingers as her other arm crossed her chest defensively. 

Clearly he had touched some kind of nerve. Draco chose to change the subject rather than try to decipher her cryptic reply. “How’s your potions work going?” 

She glanced at him again. “You know I can’t discuss it.” 

“I didn’t ask for details,” he pointed out. “I’m just making conversation. You’ve been working on it for months, surely you’ve had some success with whatever it is.” 

Granger frowned. “I don’t think I’ve had any success at all, actually. Unfortunately it’s a lot of guesswork, so I may never know if I’m on the right track.” 

Draco finished his drink, letting the smooth liquid warm him from the inside out. “You know, I’m pretty good with potions. I know it’s classified, but if Shacklebolt will allow it, I might be able to help.” 

Tilting her head for a moment, Granger seemed to consider his offer. “I’ll talk it over with Kingsley and see what he thinks,” she promised. 

Draco was momentarily surprised that she had even entertained the idea.  _ Oh, yeah. Trust. _ What an odd feeling, to be trusted by her. Would he ever get used to it? 

“Would you like another round?” the waitress offered, having made her way back over to them. She eyed their empty glasses pointedly. 

Granger looked at him hopefully, but he shook his head. One drink. That’s all he could allow without risking having their defences lowered. “No, we should go,” he said gruffly. The waitress looked a bit taken aback by his tone until he added, “Thank you.” 

The waitress rifled through a few tickets in her pocket for a moment before placing one on the table between them. “Thank you for coming in today,” she said with a smile. 

Granger picked up the cheque before pulling a few Muggle pounds from her bag. She handed the money and the cheque back to the waitress. “Thanks,” she spoke before rising to her feet. Draco followed suit and the two made their way out of the little pub and back onto the cold street. 

“Do you mind if we walk for a little bit?” she asked hopefully, eyeing the glittering store fronts. 

“We should really get back,” Draco replied warily. He didn’t like being out in the open. They were too vulnerable here. For all he knew they had been spotted in the pub and were being followed. Or worse, a sniper wizard could be targeting them from any one of a hundred vantage points at this very moment. 

“You worry too much. No one knows we left. We’re surrounded by all these people. We blend right in,” she assured him.

Draco glanced around at the smiling Muggles doing their holiday shopping. What were the odds of any Death Eaters spotting them in the middle of this scene? Pretty slim, he wagered. 

“Fine,” he sighed. 

With a grin, she looped her arm through his. When she caught his confused look she laughed. “We’ll attract less attention this way. Just a young couple doing some Christmas shopping.” 

Draco shrugged, but did not pull his arm from hers. Her touch didn’t make his stomach turn as it once had. Besides, she was warm next to him. 

They walked for several minutes, stopping occasionally so that Granger could window shop a bit. Each time Draco caught a glimpse of their reflection in a window, he was struck by how convincing they were as a couple. She was smiling and seemed perfectly at ease on his arm and for just a moment, he thought about what she might be like on a real date. 

He let himself imagine what his life would be like if the war had ended—or rather, if the war had never happened. Perhaps he would be here on a proper date—not with Granger, obviously, but with some beautiful, eligible witch. Maybe he would shop in Diagon Alley with his date and then take her back to the Manor for tea with his parents. His heart twisted painfully at the thought of such an idyllic life that he would never have. 

Though he had been reluctant to leave the safety of the house earlier, Draco found himself enjoying the outing. Perhaps he had needed an escape as well. 

A sudden scream up ahead brought reality rushing back to him. As the smile slipped from Granger's lips, Draco's heart began to race. The world around them in slow motion, Draco turned his head to look in the direction of the disturbance. Nothing seemed amiss at first glance. In fact, he even wondered if he had imagined the scream. 

But then the world around them exploded in a whirlwind of chaos. A huge gust of wind and snow swirled around them before rushing forward toward the shops just ahead of them. 

It didn't stop. The wind barreled ahead, colliding with the front windows. At once, shattered glass and broken baubles showered passersby. Yells and screams rent the air as visible panic rose in the crowd. In the pandemonium, Muggles began to flee, their terror and hysteria so high that Draco wouldn't have been surprised if someone got trampled. 

Though the world around him had dissolved into chaos, Draco kept his head. He grabbed Granger and pulled her into the shadows. They had to get out.  _ Now _ . There could only be one group responsible for this horror.

Beside him, Granger gasped in terror. Glancing over at her, he saw her hand, shaking, pointing up to the sky. Draco followed the direction of her hand and felt his stomach churn.

The sky had turned a familiar, eerie shade of green. 

In the next moment, the Dark Mark appeared in the sky, Dolohov's menacing eyes staring down at them.

Holding tight to Granger’s arm, Draco pulled her toward an alley to apparate away, but she was already drawing her wand. 

“What are you doing?” he hissed, his fingers digging into her forearm. 

“We have to go help,” she insisted, trying to wrench her arm from his. 

He just gripped her tighter. “We’re not even supposed to be here, Granger. We have to get back to the safe house immediately.” 

“No,” she insisted, twisting her arm out of his grasp. She ran toward the fray with determined strides, but Draco was too quick for her. He caught her around the middle and dragged her into an alley. 

She kicked and struggled against his hold, but her distress drew no attention over the chaos down the street. Draco squeezed her firmly against him as he apparated them back to the safe house. 

He pulled her into the wards as she screamed obscenities at him. 

“What are you doing?” she shouted as he finally released her. 

“My job, Granger,” he returned coolly. 

“We could have helped. We could have saved lives,” she argued, her face purpling with rage. 

“You could have been killed,” he spat. “And it’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen. The rest of the Order will see to the Muggles.” 

“They’ll be minutes behind. We were  _ there _ .” 

“We shouldn’t have been. Shacklebolt will have my head if he finds out I took you out of the safe house. We never should have left.” 

“Doesn’t it bother you that innocent Muggles have probably died because you refused to let me fight?” 

“This is war, Granger. People die every day.” 

“They didn’t have to. We could have protected them.” 

“It’s not my job to protect them. It’s my job to protect  _ you _ ,” he reminded her. 

She scowled at him, prodding him in the chest with one of her fingers. “I don’t need protection. From you or anyone else!” 

“Take it up with Shacklebolt,” Draco grumbled, grabbing her arm and pulling her into the house to prevent her from Apparating back to London.

Granger’s fire diminished a bit, but burned no less hot. It seemed she was done shouting at him, but was far from finished being angry. “Don’t you have a heart at all?” she seethed as they entered the quiet home. “Or did Dolohov see to that when he turned you into what you are?”

It was as if the floor had fallen out from beneath him, sending him into freefall. So much for their budding civility. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as if demanding to be defended. Though her words stung, he quickly pushed down any fleeting desire to show her that he did, in fact, have a heart. In that moment he was far more inclined to get as far away from her as possible. 

Stepping closer to her, he hissed with as much venom as a wounded snake could muster. “This conversation is over. Go work on your fucking potion or whatever you do all day. I don’t give a shite what you do, but nothing you say will convince me to let you leave this house on my watch again.” 

Shaking with rage, Granger turned on her heel and marched up the stairs, slamming her door with a bang. 

Draco sank into a chair in the living room, rubbing his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his room for the rest of the evening, but he wouldn’t put it past Granger to try to sneak out and he wanted to be ready if she did. 

_ No heart _ . So that’s what Granger truly thought of him. So much for trust. 

It occurred to him that by banishing her to her room and refusing to refute the insult, he hadn’t given her any reason to doubt her claim.

She had a point, he supposed. Dolohov’s training had been thorough. The High Minister had dug through Draco’s mind, discarding emotions that he deemed useless. Fear, compassion, guilt, love, misery—Dolohov has made it his goal to dispose of them all. 

Nothing was truly gone though. They were all just suppressed—buried beneath the crushing weight of the foundation of Dolohov’s training. Every now and then one would drag itself out of the dust beneath the structure and attempt to climb to the top. But his training had taught him exactly how to push them back down. 

_ So be it _ . If Granger wanted to paint him as a heartless monster then that’s exactly what he would be. 

~*~*~

Draco did not see Granger for the rest of the evening. The following morning, Potter arrived before breakfast to begin his shift on guard duty. He brought news of yesterday’s attack. Three Muggles had been killed and the Order failed to arrest any Death Eaters. Draco groaned, knowing that the news would only spur Granger’s rage. 

“Anything I should know before I take over?” Potter asked as Draco shoved a final book into his rucksack at the kitchen table. 

“Yeah, Granger hates me,” Draco droned. 

“More than usual?” Potter teased with a smirk. 

“Probably. We had it out yesterday. Haven’t seen her since.” 

Potter shook his head, probably dreading having to calm the irate witch. “Well, enjoy your time off. I’m sure you’ll have both cooled down before your next watch,” he reassured Draco kindly. Potter gave Draco a Portkey with a terse smile. 

“Thanks,” Draco grumbled. “See ya.” He hoisted his bag over his shoulder and walked through the back door to the garden before unwrapping the Portkey and letting it fall into his hand. 

The Westenberg house was full of people and loud, boisterous conversations that day, but it was fortunately Granger-free and a knot in Draco’s stomach relaxed as soon as he arrived. 

On his second day off, he spent the afternoon playing chess with Ginny. She was far better than he was and Draco had to watch his King fall time and time again. 

“You’re terrible at this!” Ginny teased after her third consecutive win. 

Draco laughed. “Well, I haven’t played much since fifth year. I suppose I’m a bit rusty.” 

“You hadn’t played Quidditch since fifth year either, but you’re not bad at that,” she remarked as she waved her wand to reset the pieces. 

“Well, maybe I was always terrible at chess.” 

Suddenly a silver lynx shimmered next to them, speaking in Shacklebolt’s authoritative voice. “Come at once,” it ordered. “Death Eater attack in Essex.” The Patronus morphed, showing them the image of a row of shops that they could focus on for apparation. 

“Another one?” Ginny said breathlessly, rising to her feet and drawing her wand. “They’re getting bolder.” 

Draco didn’t respond, but led her out of the house and beyond the wards before he held out his arm for her to take. Once her hand was gripping his elbow firmly, he focused on the row of shops and disapparated.

The instant they arrived on the street their wands twisted from their hands and flew through the air into the waiting fingers of a Death Eater. 

“ _ Stupefy,”  _ hissed a voice, and Ginny went limp beside him. 

Draco looked around. Had this all been a trap? No, Shacklebolt and the other Order members were fighting Death Eaters just down the street. This one must have just been waiting for reinforcements to arrive to incapacitate them one by one. 

“Well, well, look who we have here,” the Death Eater sneered, sauntering closer to Draco. 

Draco’s pulse quickened. Cornered. Wandless. His eyes darted around the street in hopes of some escape. The other Order members were all far too busy with the battle to notice his distress. 

“Let’s take a little trip. Shall we, traitor?” 

The Death Eater raised his wand, muttered a Stunning spell, and Draco descended into darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates on Mondays  
> Next Chapter: April 27th
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/graceful-lioness)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be advised that the tags have been updated with this chapter to include Biological Warfare and Biological Weapons.
> 
> Alpha and Beta love to BiscuitsforPotter and DisenchantedGlow for helping me not make Draco's blood run cold too many times in one chapter.

When Draco came to, he was in the dark. A cold, stone floor beneath his back left him stiff as he pushed himself to sit up. Wherever he was, it was quiet—free of any typical ambient noise, making it possible for him to hear distant faint sounds. Water was dripping somewhere nearby and he could hear the occasional scratching of tiny claws on the floor, making his skin crawl. Slowly, his eyes grew accustomed to the near-blackness and he took in his surroundings, barely discernible in the very dim light which drifted down a narrow staircase and through a small barred window in a thick wooden door. 

This room was not so very different from the dungeons at Malfoy Manor. It was clearly far underground judging by the lack of windows and the musty smell. The stone floor felt rough under his hands as he groped along it for anything that might help him: a weapon, a wand, even just a clue as to his whereabouts. 

Suddenly, the door opened, and the chamber was flooded with a pale light as someone entered. With the wave of a wand, the dungeon was illuminated and his captor came into view. “Hello, Draco.” 

Yaxley looked much more at ease than he had been the last time Draco had seen him. His clothes were freshly pressed, his hair neatly tied back, and a smug grin graced his face. 

“I see Dolohov has promoted you,” remarked Draco dryly, trying to calm his pounding heart. “Shame he didn’t come to see me himself. I’ve missed him.” 

“The High Minister couldn’t care less that you’re here,” Yaxley informed him with a smirk. “He’s pleased that you were captured, of course, but beyond that, he’s far too busy to deal with something as inconsequential as your punishment. He’s given me complete freedom to dispose of you as I see fit.” 

Draco leaned back against an unforgiving stone wall. “So how many times will I be tortured before you snuff out my life in a blaze of green?” 

Yaxley's pale lips curled over his yellowing teeth. “No, Draco. I have something much more…  _ imaginative _ in mind for you.” 

Draco’s blood ran cold. What could be worse than the Cruciatus Curse? Having endured it many times, he couldn’t imagine a worse way to go. The idea of dying by the Killing Curse seemed like sweet relief after a few minutes at the end of the torture curse. “Imaginative…” Draco parroted slowly. 

Yaxley’s eyes glinted with manic glee. “We’ve been developing something… something the Wizarding World has never seen before. Far more effective than the Killing Curse. It’s taken us a few months of experimentation, but it’s finally ready. And you, Draco, you’ll be the very first subject.” 

“Me?” Draco gasped in mock surprise. “I’m honoured.” 

Yaxley scowled, his wand slashing through the air quick as a whip. “ _ Crucio. _ ” 

The spell hit him before he could brace himself for it, and a scream tore through Draco’s throat and it clawed its way out of his mouth, echoing through the dark chamber. Every inch of his skin had erupted in white hot flames as the curse rushed through his body. Surely nothing could be worse than this. Whatever they had planned couldn’t possibly be as terrible as a few seconds at the mercy of this curse. 

Draco wasn’t sure how long it lasted—mere seconds or many minutes—but when Yaxley released the spell he was grinning down at the young wizard maliciously, his eyes bulging in poorly disguised elation. “Mind your tongue, boy, or I’ll see to it that your mother receives your pretty little head in a box when we’re done with you.” 

Gasping for breath, Draco felt his stomach sink to his toes as he looked up at the Death Eater. Did that mean they knew where his mother was? No, surely they would have captured her or killed her by now if they knew. But, real or not, the threat was enough for Draco to hold his tongue. 

“Enjoy the night, Draco,” Yaxley purred, straightening up and pocketing his wand. “It’s your last.” 

The man turned and strode from the dungeon and closed the heavy door behind him, leaving Draco horribly and painfully alone. 

* * *

Draco wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he was awakened sometime later by the creaking of the door opening again. His eyes opened and he saw someone approaching him by the light of a wand. 

“Draco?” Unlike before, this voice was a friendly one—soft and kind. He knew this voice—had known it for years. 

His heart leapt. “Theo,” he gasped out, his mouth dry. He pushed himself up to his knees as his dear friend’s face came into view. 

Theo dropped to the floor and threw his arms around Draco in a brotherly hug. Draco returned the affection, tears pricking at his eyes. He quickly pushed his emotions down as Theo pulled away. “How did they capture you?” the boy asked, sitting back to look at Draco. 

Draco was sure he looked a fright after spending several hours on a dirty dungeon floor and sustaining Yaxley’s Cruciatus Curse. His muscles still ached as he shifted to cross his legs and rest his elbows on his knees. “I’ve been working with the Order. When you all attacked Essex yesterday I was sent to help. Someone, I think maybe Jugson, was waiting for new arrivals,” Draco explained, still cursing his own lack of vigilance. He wondered what had become of Ginny? Was she captured as well? Perhaps she was being held in a dungeon like this one at another Death Eater’s home. 

“The Order, mate?” Theo tutted. “I knew you’d gone rogue, but I never thought you’d buddy up to Potter.” 

Draco scoffed. “I have certainly  _ not  _ buddied up to Potter. Shacklebolt made me join as a condition of my immunity deal.” 

“I’m surprised they let you join.”

“To be honest, so am I,” Draco admitted. “How bad was it when Dolohov found out I’d left?” 

Something flickered behind Theo’s eyes and he looked down at his knees. “I’ve never seen him so angry. He tried to burn the Manor down. It took us hours to put out the flames. Your room got the worst of it.” 

Draco’s heart clenched at the thought of his home going up in flames. How many of his beloved things had been lost forever?

“That’s why Rookwood and Lestrange were still there when the Ministry raided it. Dolohov set the place ablaze and then fled, ordering us to clean the place up and get the classified papers out. Those two were supposed to be right behind me when I left, but they never showed.” 

“Where are we now? Is this the new headquarters?” asked Draco, glancing around at the long shadows that Theo’s wand light was casting on the stone walls. 

“No, this is just a temporary safe house. We move around a lot.” 

“But you’ve been okay? Dolohov didn’t take my desertion out on you did he?” 

Theo waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, I’m fine. You know me, I’m good at keeping my head down. Pansy was livid, you know.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I think she was hurt more than anything. She’s always held a candle for you, I think. But she was so angry. She’s been asking for all sorts of missions just to keep her mind off of it.” 

Draco frowned at the thought of Pansy taking on a more important role in the Death Eater regime. What sort of missions had Dolohov been sending her on? 

“Tell her I’m sorry, will you? I didn’t mean to hurt her when I left… either of you,” Draco intoned miserably. 

Theo nodded, his eyes solemn. “I will.” 

“How’s William?” 

Theo’s eyes fell to the floor. “He’s alright, all things considered. He’s just a kid.” 

“He’s older than I was when I took the mark,” Draco pointed out. 

“Yeah, but his heart’s just not in it.” 

A pang of guilt ran through Draco. He’d hardly spared a thought for William when he left. He’d always liked the boy, but he’d just left him behind. “Look out for him, will you? He’s a good bloke.” 

Theo nodded. “I’ll do my best.” 

Draco felt slightly relieved, knowing that Theo would watch over William. “Who’s taken over my job?” asked Draco out of sheer morbid curiosity. He wondered who was hunting Granger now that Snyde had been captured. “Do you know?” 

Theo shook his head. “I know Dolohov has been training someone, but I’m not sure who.” 

Draco nodded, thinking back to his months of training under the High Minister. Whoever it was had their work cut out for them. Dolohov was extremely strict and unforgiving in his lessons. He could only imagine what this new, more effective way of killing was going to be like. 

“So do you know what they’re going to do to me?” Draco asked. 

Fear filled Theo’s eyes and he looked away from Draco. 

“Please, Theo,” Draco begged. “If I’m going to die tomorrow, I have a right to know how.” 

Theo took a deep breath, his eyes filled with pity as they flickered back to Draco’s. “They’ve been working on something—a potion, I think—that turns to vapor in the air and kills everyone that comes near. The potions team has been testing it on house elves for a few weeks and the results have been… awful. They’ve… they’ve designed it to be as painful as possible.” 

“A potion,” Draco said thoughtfully. “Is there an antidote?” 

Theo hesitated and then shook his head. “Not exactly. They’ve been working on one, but it isn’t fully developed.” 

Stomach dropping like a stone, Draco nodded. 

“I can’t help you escape,” Theo said regretfully. “They’ve got the whole place warded. No one, not even Death Eaters, can get in or out without special permission from Yaxley or Dolohov.” 

“So he’s here?” asked Draco. “Dolohov, I mean.” 

“He came in when he’d heard you’d been captured,” Theo said with a nod. “I think he wants to be here when they execute you.” 

A thud from above had both of their heads snapping up. They listened intently before finally turning back to each other. “I’m not even supposed to be down here,” Theo said. “Dolohov would skin me alive if he knew I was talking to you.” 

“I don’t want to get you into trouble. You should go,” Draco urged, though it made his heart ache to say it. 

Theo reached out, his hand coming down on Draco’s shoulder firmly. He looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the right words. Draco couldn’t blame him. What could one say to their dear friend who was about to be executed? 

Draco clutched Theo’s arm hard and they shared a look that said more than they could put into words. With a heavy heart, Draco gave his friend a reassuring nod and Theo pulled his hand away from Draco’s shoulder and stood up. He sent the blond a broken smile before leaving by the light of his wand, leaving Draco alone in the dark once again. 

* * *

Draco spent the rest of the night shuffling through the dark, his fingertips brushing along the rough walls until they were raw as he searched for a way out of his prison. After several hours of careful exploration, he found that the only openings were the door, which was locked and heavily warded, and a small vent at the bottom of the far wall, which was far too small to squeeze through—despite his best efforts. He checked the floor. There were several drains, but they were no larger than his fist. 

He made his way back to the door, feeling the magic of the wards as he tried the knob time and time again. He summoned his magic, letting it flow through his palms and press against the door in the hope of a miracle, but without a wand he would never be able to find a way out of these wards. He was trapped. And come sunrise, he would be put to death in the worst way imaginable. 

Pale daylight began to trickle down the staircase beyond the door and Draco’s stomach tightened worse than ever. He made his way back to the vent. Despite having tried to squeeze into it dozens of times already, he was just desperate enough to try again. Both of his feet fit through and he was able to wiggle in past his knees, but his hips stopped him. With a sigh, he gave up. Even if his hips had fit, his shoulders certainly would not have. 

“Draco,” a voice hissed from beyond the door. 

He turned, seeing Theo gesturing to him frantically through the tiny barred window. Scrambling to his feet, Draco hurried over to his friend. 

“Take this, quick,” Theo ordered, thrusting a tiny phial through the bars. 

“What is it?” Draco asked as his fingers closed around the glass that was filled with a shimmering orange liquid. 

“The antidote.  _ Hurry _ .”    
  
Draco hesitated. “I thought you said there wasn’t one.” 

“There isn’t. Not really,” said Theo, glancing over his shoulder to the top of the stairs. “It’s not finished. It might not work at all, but maybe… Maybe you won’t die.” His fearful eyes met Draco’s. “I hope you don’t.” 

Draco eyed the potion warily. It was untested, unfinished. It could kill him. But he supposed that if it did, he wouldn’t be any worse off. Perhaps it would be less painful this way than with the potion Yaxley had planned for him. He was sure it wouldn’t work, but with nothing to lose, he pulled the cork from the end of the phial and poured the potion down his throat. It burned like acid the whole way down and Draco gagged and coughed. 

After the burning had subsided, he passed the phial and cork back to Theo who thrust it into his pocket. “I’d better go,” he murmured. He reached his hand through the bars and Draco grabbed hold of it, sure that this would be the last time he was touched by a friend. “Good luck,” Theo whispered before releasing Draco and disappearing up the stairs. 

Draco remained at the door for several minutes, hoping against hope that Theo would reappear at the top of the stairs with a miraculous escape plan. Or that the Order would arrive to rescue him. Instead, two burly Death Eaters ambled down the stairs. They opened the door effortlessly and grabbed Draco roughly by the elbows to pull him up the stairs. 

Blinking against the blinding daylight, Draco took in his surroundings. They jostled him down a narrow hallway and into a vast ballroom. On the floor there was a marble inlaid ‘S'. Snyde? Selwyn? It mattered very little now whose house he was in. It wasn’t like he would be able to tell the Order after he was dead. 

Death Eaters stood all around the room, jeering and taunting him with malicious glee as he was escorted through the crowd. Against the far wall was a glass box, large enough for several adults to stand inside comfortably. Inside the box was a corked vase filled with a dense, black liquid. Dread seeped into Draco’s veins, causing him to dig his heels into the floor. He struggled against the hold of Dolohov's henchmen, who may as well have been dragging a child for how much his fighting hindered them. 

They pulled him toward a thick glass door and forced him through, sealing the door magically once he was inside. Draco struggled against the door as the men backed away laughing. 

“Draco Malfoy,” came a cool voice, magically amplified through the ballroom. Yaxley had moved to the front of the crowd, his eyes dancing with vicious excitement. “You stand accused of treason against the High Minister and his regime. The sentence for this crime is death.” He paused, his lips curling back in a bone chilling grin. “Do you have anything to say?” 

Draco moved to the front of the glass enclosure to observe the dozens of Death Eaters who had gathered to watch his execution. Dolohov stood near Yaxley, his dark eyes regarding Draco with unbridled hatred. Draco refused to give them the satisfaction of begging for his life. He knew them well enough to know that it would do no good. Instead he just sneered at all of them. “Here’s to all you fuckers. Mindless followers to the very end.” 

Yaxley’s lips curled viciously, and with a flick of his wand, the vase next to Draco shattered and the black liquid spilled out onto the floor. 

Draco stumbled back as the potion oozed across the marble. It hissed and bubbled, releasing thick curls of black smoke that filled the air. The acrid smell had him covering his mouth and nose, but it was no use. The potion was already seeping into his lungs. He coughed as the smoke choked him and blinked rapidly as his vision began to blur. 

His lungs constricted, forcing him to take short, rapid breaths and take in even more of the poison. He coughed and gagged as the pain began to set in everywhere. In his chest, in his stomach, in his  _ eyes. _ Pain at least as terrible as the Cruciatus Curse, made even worse by the inability to take a full breath of air. Surely his lungs were collapsing. 

Heart quickening to an impossible rate, Draco felt his muscles weaken and he swayed where he stood. The room was beginning to swirl around him, blurring the faces of the audience of Death Eaters. He convulsed violently and the floor surged upwards, slamming into his knees as his legs buckled beneath him. 

Leaning forward on his palms, he vomited onto the marble. When he sat back up he could no longer feel his hands… or his feet… or his tongue. The numbness spread quickly, encompassing all of his body as the convulsions sent him slipping sideways to the floor in a puddle of his own sweat and drool. 

The paralysis was numbing the pain a bit now, but he could no longer feel his chest and it seemed he had forgotten how to breathe. Choking and gasping for air, his eyes began to darken. While his heart had been racing mere seconds ago, it had now slowed to a glacial pace, thudding like a dying drum. 

_ Thud. _

The antidote had not worked. 

_ Thud.  _

He was dying. 

_ Thud. _

What would his mother do once he was dead? He could only hope that she would stay far away. 

_ Thud.  _

He would never see her again. Never have another warm embrace from his mother. Never hear her call him her ‘Dragon’ again. 

_ Thud.  _

Never see another friendly face… or any face at all. Not Theo, or Pansy. Even Granger… 

_ Thud.  _

The world around him descended into darkness. 

The pain ended. 

Everything ended. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Monday. Next chapter posts on May 4th. 
> 
> As always, the best way to get in touch with me if you want a response is to leave me an ask on my [Tumblr](https://graceful-lioness.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Please leave a comment if you're so inclined!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I thought I'd drop an early update for you all since that cliffhanger last week was so mean. I hope you enjoy.  
> A reminder that elements of this story were inspired by Homeland. If you recognize anything, that's probably why! 
> 
> Alpha and Beta love to BiscuitsforPotter and DisenchantedGlow

_ “Draco.”  _

_ Pain.  _

_ A nauseating potion poured down his throat.  _

_ A horrified voice saying his name… crying.  _

_ Bright lights above him. _

_ A pair of terrified brown eyes close to his own.  _

_ Hushed voices nearby speaking urgently.  _

_ “Draco…”  _

He opened his eyes to a dark room and blinked. Light was streaming in through an open doorway, illuminating a sterile room, medical equipment, and a hospital bed. 

Unable to believe his unaccustomed senses, Draco let his eyes wander around the dark room. There were tubes in his arms, pumping thick potions into his veins. A magical diagram of his vitals hovered next to the bed and as soon as he was fully conscious, a bright light zoomed away from it and out of the door. 

A moment later, a healer bustled in, his eyes wide and his mouth open in shock. The portly man hurried to Draco’s bed and began performing a myriad of spells. “Hello,” he greeted kindly. “I’m Healer MacDougall. You’re in St. Mungo’s hospital. Do you know your name?” 

Draco’s mouth was dry and his tongue felt thick, but he tried to speak. All that came out was a pathetic choking noise. The Healer hurried to Draco’s aid, waving his wand and ridding his tongue of its sandpaper feel. “D-Draco…” he forced out. 

“Very good,” the Healer praised, though he didn’t seem to be paying much attention. His eyes were darting over Draco’s vitals and his fingers were pressing into Draco’s wrist. “We’ve alerted the Minister that you’ve woken up. He should be here shortly.” 

Draco stared at the Healer’s fingers on him. His eyes were telling him that they were there, but he couldn’t feel anything. He tried to move his fingers. Nothing. 

“W-what hap-happened?” Draco groaned, trying desperately to remember how he had gotten here. 

“You were the victim of an attack,” MacDougall informed him. “A new, unidentified potion. You are very lucky to be alive, young man.” 

Lucky… He didn’t feel lucky. He felt like shit. 

“I’ll let the Minister fill you in on the details when he arrives. For now, can you tell me what you feel?” 

Draco took stock of his body. It was heavy against the mattress. Each attempt to move had been unsuccessful. 

“N-nothing,” he stammered miserably. 

“No pain?” the healer clarified, glancing at Draco skeptically. 

“N-no, nothing at—at all,” Draco said slowly, his tongue still feeling foreign in his mouth. 

The healer turned away from Draco’s vitals at last, eyes blown wide in concern. He pulled the blankets back from Draco’s feet and gently prodded his big toe on each foot with a quill. “Can you feel this?”

“N-no.” 

“It doesn’t have to be just pain. Anything at all. Pressure? Tingling?” 

Slowly, Draco’s head lolled side to side. His heart unclenched slightly. At least he wasn’t completely paralyzed. 

The healer worked his way up Draco’s legs, poking them with his pointy quill until at last Draco flinched. He could feel something! The horrible nothingness ended at his mid thighs on both legs. From there, the Healer used his hands to feel along Draco’s hips and lower abdomen. 

It wasn’t much—certainly not as much as he was supposed to feel—but there was definitely a dull pressure and slight tingle where the Healer’s fingers dug into him. The sensations grew stronger as MacDougall reached Draco’s ribs and chest. Working down Draco’s arms, however, the feelings faded fast and then stopped altogether at his elbows. 

Dread filled Draco as MacDougall checked his neck and shoulders, occasionally asking him to try to move this or that. He could shrug his shoulders and move his head fairly easily. Lifting his upper arms was very difficult, but he managed to move them off the mattress a bit. He attempted sitting up using only his abdominal muscles, but they screamed in protest and his head fell back. He coughed and groaned, and though he felt like a failure, MacDougall nodded. “Good,” he said. 

What was so good about it? 

“You have some mobility,” continued the Healer. “That’s a good sign. We cannot make any promises, of course, but we will do everything you can to help you regain your full range of motion.” 

A cold stone of dread settled in Draco’s stomach. No promises… 

Would he ever be able to wield a wand again? Or play Quidditch? Or even simply walk? 

Suddenly, his nose itched and he couldn’t even scratch it. 

“Excuse me for a moment. I have to update your other Healers on your condition. Then I’ll bring you a few potions to take.” 

MacDougall disappeared into the corridor for a few minutes. He could hear hushed voices from beyond the door—his Healer and a woman. After a brief conversation, Draco heard heels clicking away down the corridor and MacDougall came back into view, arms laden with multiple phials. 

Draco took all of the potions dutifully, opening his mouth so that MacDougall could pour them all down his throat with confident precision. Each one tasted more foul than the last, and he sighed in relief when MacDougall had given him the final dose. The Healer then offered him water so that Draco could relieve his mouth of the horrible taste and the dryness that had set in during his unconsciousness. 

“You m-mentioned m-my other—other Healers,” Draco prompted. 

“Yes,” MacDougall confirmed with a nod. He picked up Draco’s chart to add a few notes to it. “Your case has been extremely difficult. There are four of us attending to you: myself, Humphreys, Granger, and Browning. There are always at least two of us here at all times to monitor your condition.” 

So Granger had been assigned to his case. Interesting. He wondered how much she had fought against her superiors about it.

After Draco had taken at least a dozen potions and MacDougall had taken diligent notes, the Healer left, promising to return within the hour to check on him. 

Draco was alone again, unable to move or to think about anything besides how much he desperately wanted to move everything…  _ anything _ . He let his head loll to the side to take in the rest of the room. It looked stark. Bleak. All of it. Well… most of it. A single chair sat by the window at a slight angle. But it wasn’t the chair that was remarkable—it was the throw blanket slung over the back of it. Deep crimson colour with flecks of gold, the damn thing simultaneously unearthed comfort and dislike. He imagined someone had put it there with guests in mind. 

There was little doubt in his mind that no one had come to see him. 

Of course, that brought up the issue of time. How long had he been in this place? Draco immediately wished he had asked MacDougall more questions.

Turning his head in the other direction, another splash of colour caught his eye. Flowers. A vase of them. Daffodils mostly, with some purple tulips as well. Draco wondered who had left them. Perhaps St. Mungo’s had people who provided flowers for patients who had no one else. 

“Draco.” 

The voice seemed to come from nowhere, deep and urgent. 

Shacklebolt stood in the doorway regarding him with a frown. The Minister walked inside and sank into the visitor’s chair, ignoring the throw blanket. “It’s good to see you awake,” he said solemnly. 

“How l-long have I b-been here?” Draco stammered with a grimace, wondering why his tongue wasn’t working properly. 

“Three weeks,” Shacklebolt replied. 

Draco blinked. It seemed like just yesterday that he had been speaking with Theo in the dungeon. 

“You were found unconscious, nearly dead, by a small team of us three days after you disappeared.” 

Three days? He had been laying in that glass box for over two days before he was found? 

“H-how did th-they—” 

“Find you?” finished Shacklebolt gently. Draco nodded. “It seems that the Death Eaters were using you to make some kind of point. The day after you were captured we received a box full of memories of the moment you were poisoned.” A shadow crossed the Minister’s face, his eyes darkening and the lines on his forehead deepening. Suddenly, Draco felt very glad that he couldn’t remember anything after he’d been forced into the glass box. “The team examined the memories and finally noticed the inlaid marble ‘S’ on the floor. From there it was just a matter of searching homes that we knew might fit. It was the Selwyn home. By the time they arrived, all of the Death Eaters had abandoned the property, but you were left behind.” 

The news washed over him, and his sluggish brain lagged as he processed it all. Two full days there, in that horrible little box. They’d left him for dead. They’d sent the memories to the Order to taunt them and show off their shiny new weapon. 

“Frankly, I'm shocked that you are alive. Perhaps their potion needs more work and is not as deadly as they believe it to be.” 

Draco shook his head. “Th-Theo… gave m-me an anti-anti…” He groaned in frustration. Why weren’t words coming like they usually did?

“Antidote?” 

He nodded. 

“Theodore Nott? Interesting…” The Minister thought for a moment. “The antidote must be unfinished, given how little it helped you.” 

Draco nodded again. “Yes.” 

“Do you remember anything else? Anything about the potion that might be helpful? Did anyone say anything to you?” 

Draco shook his head, unable to recall much from his time at the Selwyn residence. Brief glimpses flashed through his mind: Pain from Yaxley’s Cruciatus Curse, Theo passing him a potion, and the glass box surrounded by an army of delighted Death Eaters. 

“The Healers said you can’t feel much,” Shacklebolt commented, his dark eyes raking over Draco’s prone form. 

He shook his head and Shacklebolt continued. “Well, we have some of the best people working on figuring out exactly what the potion was that they used against you, as well as developing a proper antidote and cure for its effects.” 

The Minister stood and his hand came down on Draco’s arm reassuringly. Draco stared at the contact, thinking of how strange it was to know he was being touched, but be unable to feel it at all. “Try not to worry too much for now. We are fairly certain that the Death Eaters believe you to be dead, but there is a guard stationed outside your door at all times. If you ever have any concerns or need to contact me, just call for them.” 

With an encouraging smile, Shacklebolt left the room, turning briefly to speak a few hushed words to the guard on duty before disappearing out of sight. 

* * *

The next week passed in a blur of physical examinations, potion doses, and the slow and steady return of the feeling in his arms and legs. After seven days of exhausting physical therapy and choking down the most vile potions imaginable, he could finally feel dull sensations down to his wrists and ankles. Movement was returning to him slowly, though he could still not feel or move his hands or feet. 

His Healers were thrilled with his progress, praising him after every muscle twitch and even seemed to rejoice when he complained of pain in his lower extremities. They told him that any sensation, even pain was something to be pleased about after what he’d been through. Everyone kept reminding him how lucky he was, but he didn’t feel lucky at all. 

Not only did he feel condescended to, he felt…  _ vulnerable _ . Night after night he lay awake in bed, unable to stand, walk, run. Unable to wield his wand. There was only one guard by the door, and if he fell there was nothing Draco could do to defend himself. Even screaming for help was unlikely, as his tongue was just about as useless as his fingers these days. 

All of his Healers were extremely attentive, and he had grown very used to MacDougall, Browning, and Humphreys being around day in and day out. But despite the fact that he often heard Granger’s name spoken in passing by the Healers, he had yet to see the witch. Sometimes he would hear her voice in the hall as she spoke to her coworkers in urgent tones, but she never entered his room. 

Some Order members came to visit him. Ginny and Charlie stopped by two days after he woke up. He learned that Ginny had not been captured. After the Death Eater had stunned her, he had simply left her there to be revived by the Order later. She and Charlie stayed for mere minutes, speaking politely about current events and offering optimistic sentiments about his recovery that Draco couldn’t share. 

Potter came twice that week, once to get Draco’s official statement about what he remembered from his imprisonment, and then again several days later to check in and see if he had recalled anything else. 

“G-good of you to vis-visit me, P-Potter,” Draco stammered bitterly. “Not many people have. Not even G-Granger, and she’s sup-supposedly one of my Healers.” He stared at his fingers, trying desperately to move them. “I g-guess she figured she was r-r-rid of me once and for all.” 

Potter’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Didn’t Kingsley tell you who found you?” 

Draco didn’t answer, confusion blooming in his mind. 

“It was Hermione,” Potter pressed on. “When we got the box of memories, a few of us watched them, but Hermione watched them all. Over and over again. She sobbed the whole time, but I couldn’t get her to stop watching them. She was obsessed with finding you. And then, after we brought you here, she didn’t leave your side for the entire first week.”

Draco’s eyes darted around the room, suddenly feeling quite exposed knowing that Granger had sat with him for so long and he hadn’t known at all. “W-why hasn’t she c-come to see m-me since I w-woke up?” 

Potter shrugged, his eyes holding something that his mouth wouldn’t say. “Maybe it’s just too painful for her to see you like this,” he suggested. 

Draco scoffed. “Alive?” 

Potter’s mouth twitched slightly. “You’re just so… unlike how you were before.” 

Draco’s mind tried to make sense of Potter’s words. He supposed he was quite different now. Unable to walk or perform magic. Now that he could not protect her as his job had required, maybe she didn’t see much use for him. Perhaps now that he stuttered so horribly, she didn’t even see him as a decent subject for casual conversation. Just a medical puzzle for her to solve. 

* * *

In the month since Draco had woken up in St. Mungo’s, the world around him passed in a haze of painfully slow progress. His mind was constantly clouded by the myriad of potions he had to take morning, noon, and night. Though time was passing around him, he hardly took notice. January came to a close three weeks into his recovery. It was around that time that the Healers pulled him from his bed and propped him unsteadily on his feet. He then took his very first shakey steps. He only managed to shuffle his feet forward for three or four little steps before his legs gave way and he had to be lifted back into his bed, but those little steps had felt as blissful as flying. 

The days that followed made Draco feel as though he had been run over by the Knight Bus. His physical therapy had become twice as strenuous now that most of the feeling had returned to his legs. 

Yet, he was far from cured. There was still only a small amount of prickling in his feet and palms, and virtually no sensation at all in his fingers or toes. 

His Healers encouraged him to use a cane when he walked, claiming that it would help him keep his balance and allow him to walk further, thereby building up his strength again more quickly. He had tried once, pressing his useless hand precariously against the cane handle and hobbling carefully across his room to the loo. But once he caught sight of himself in the full mirror he vowed to never pick it up again. Leaning on the wooden cane, with his sallow eyes, waxy skin, and hair grown out from lack of care over the past month, he had never looked more like his father. 

He had still not properly seen Granger since before he was captured. Every now and then he would catch a glimpse of unruly brown curls passing his doorway quickly, or hear her voice speaking to MacDougall or Browning in hushed tones from the corridor, but she never entered his room. 

When he wasn’t working with the Healers on his physical recovery, listening to highly medical updates from MacDougall, or sitting and staring at his fingers trying to make them move, he was sleeping. The potions kept him very drowsy, and while he’d been conditioned in his training to always remain vigilant—even while asleep—they made him sleep like the dead. He would pass out for hours and hours and wake not knowing whether it was morning or evening or even what day it was. 

One such time, he awoke abruptly in his darkened room. It must have been quite late judging by the complete lack of light outside his window. Silence penetrated the darkness for the moment, but  _ something _ had startled him into consciousness. There had to be something. He may have been filled to the brim with potent potions, but instinct and months of training told him one thing:

_ Someone was in his room.  _

His door was cracked open, and he could see the guard pacing beyond it. Perhaps one of his Healers was here to check up on him. No need to be alarmed yet. 

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light in his room, he saw a figure standing near his bed observing his vitals. He jumped, ready to call for his guard, before a small light erupted from the tip of a wand. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” 

“G-granger?” he gasped, willing his heart to return to a normal pace. “What are you d-doing here?” 

With a wave of her wand, she illuminated the bedside lamp and her face came into focus. Her cheeks were slightly pink, and her eyes downcast as she pulled the visitor’s chair closer to the bed and sank into it. She wrapped the hideous red throw blanket around her shoulders. “I’m your Healer, aren’t I?” she said flippantly, her casual tone betrayed by a small waver in her voice. There were dark circles under her eyes and she looked quite pale. Draco wondered how long it had been since she’d had a full night’s sleep. 

“S-some Healer y-you are,” he grumbled. “You haven’t even c-come to see me since—since I’ve been here.” 

Granger ran a hand through her hair, wiggling her fingers when they got caught in her tangled curls. “I’ve been in charge of your potions. It’s been quite a challenge, seeing as no one has ever been poisoned with that potion before you. I’d been trying to get the antidote ready in time, but—”

“What?” Draco cut her off. In time for what? For his imminent capture and murder? 

Granger’s mouth snapped shut as if she’d said too much. She glanced over her shoulder toward the door before casting a quick  _ Muffliato _ . “It’s meant to be classified,” she began, her tone serious. “But in light of recent events, I suppose you have a right to know.”

Draco waited patiently for her to continue, eager to have some of his questions answered at last. 

“A few months ago, I witnessed a break-in here at St. Mungo’s. I arrived very early in the morning to find someone rummaging around in our potion supply room. It was a Death Eater. I’m not sure which one—Macnair maybe. We dueled a bit, but it was clear that he wasn’t there to attack anyone. He must have had an emergency Portkey because he took what he could carry and disappeared before I could apprehend him.” 

Macnair… 

Draco’s mind reeled. The day he’d left the Manor—the day he’d been assigned to kill Granger—Macnair had gone on a mission. Something had gone wrong enough for Dolohov to fly into a rage, and mere moments later Draco had been dispatched to do what he did best. 

Granger pressed on. “I reported the break-in to Kingsley and made a list of the stolen ingredients. He tasked me with trying to find out what the Death Eaters were brewing. That’s what I’ve been working on all these months.” 

It was so simple. Mcnair had been caught stealing ingredients for this awful potion, and Dolohov had ordered Draco to kill Granger before she could discover what they were plotting. He cursed himself for not realizing it sooner. 

“I’m sorry that I…” she trailed off and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry that the antidote wasn’t ready in time. I didn’t know all the ingredients, you see. I still don’t, which is why your recovery has taken so long. We took blood samples when you came in, but that only told us so much about what you were exposed to.” 

Draco suddenly felt quite guilty. She had obviously been working herself ragged for the sake of finding the antidote to whatever Yaxley had used. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt the need to reassure her that she hadn’t failed… that she was doing a good job. “It—it’s alright. I’m alive, aren’t I?” he intoned. 

Evidently, it was the wrong thing to say. A strangled sob immediately bubbled out of Granger’s mouth and she descended into tears. “Yes,” she sniffed. “But you… you…” 

Draco blinked at her sudden display of emotion. He didn’t think he had ever seen Granger like this. Angry, yes, many times, but this was obviously something else. Sadness wasn’t quite the right word. It seemed much deeper than that. 

“I’m sorry…” she warbled, wiping her eyes and sitting up. “I must just be tired.” 

“You sh-should sleep,” Draco remarked. 

Granger just nodded. “I know. I just have too many things on my mind. I’m glad you’ve been sleeping well. Sleep is imperative to your recovery.” 

Draco froze. “How d-did you know…?” he stammered. 

A deep flush crept up Granger’s neck. “I… I’ve checked in on you from time to time.” 

“When?” he asked. Was his memory as unreliable as his hands and tongue? Perhaps she had visited him many times and he simply could not remember. 

“I work odd hours, so it’s normally the middle of the night,” she said as if it were the most normal thing in the world to sit in a patient’s room at two in the morning. Her watery eyes wouldn’t meet his and he got the distinct impression that there was something he was missing. 

There were fresh flowers on his bedside table. Different ones than the wilting ones that had been there last night. Fresh flowers had been placed in his room every week since he had woken up. And now he knew—they were from  _ her _ . His eyes drifted to the blanket again. Had she brought it to this room for herself? Had she huddled in that visitor’s chair like this night after night? Lost sleep by his side? Draco’s mind felt sluggish when he considered the possibility, as though something wasn’t quite clicking. 

“I…” she began hesitantly, her cheeks tinged pink again. “I got you something.” 

She reached into her pocket and withdrew a small box. Tapping it with her wand, she restored it to its normal size. “You missed Christmas.” 

Christmas? Draco hadn’t even realized. The thought that the holiday had still occurred in his comatose state had escaped him entirely. 

And Granger had gotten him a gift. 

He stared at the box. “F-for me?” 

Granger smiled and nodded. “It’s not much. I wasn’t allowed to leave the house for shopping, you know.” 

There was no wrapping on the box. She seemed to know that his fingers would be unable to untie bows or rip at packaging. And when he didn’t reach for it, Granger took it upon herself to open the box for him. 

Within was a lumpy, knitted blanket. Green, with silver flecks. A matching set to the red and gold one currently wrapped around her shoulders. 

“I made it,” Granger explained as she pulled it from the box. “I’m not the best knitter, I’m afraid. But I’ve improved a lot in the past couple of years.” She spread the blanket across his legs. He moved his hands across it, unable to feel the material against his palms. It was soft against his arms though and warm over his legs. The weave was uneven and the entire blanket was rather misshapen, but despite the hideousness of the throw, Draco couldn’t stop himself from being touched by the gesture. 

She had brought him fresh flowers, knitted him a blanket of Slytherin green and silver, and sat at his bedside night after night. And he had assumed that she would have rejoiced in his death. 

“Th-thank you,” he muttered.

“Don’t mention it,” Granger smiled. “I’m just sorry you missed Christmas. Charlie was on my guard duty that day. I’m sorry to say it wasn’t a very festive occasion for us either. He mostly sat next to me while I tried about a million different possible antidotes.”

She had spent Christmas day here, trying to save his life. Draco felt something akin to guilt twist in his stomach. He chose to change the subject. “I heard th-that you’re the one who—who f-found me,” he prompted. 

“Oh,” Granger breathed. “Yes… I—It was nothing.” 

“P-Potter said they sent mem-memories of what happened to me.” 

Fresh tears swam in her honey eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. 

“C-can I see?” he asked. 

Granger’s mouth fell open. “You want to… I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“P-please. I don’t remember m-much. I n-need to see it.” 

She glanced over her shoulder at the door. “I really don’t think I should…” 

“ _ Please.” _

Brown eyes met silver and he saw her battle between her duty as a Healer and what she knew he needed. At last she nodded. “I’ll be right back,” she announced, rising from her chair and disappearing into the corridor. 

A moment later she returned, a phial in one hand and a pensieve under her arm. 

Draco sat up as she approached the bed. His heart was pounding as she set the pensieve to float before him and unstoppered the phial. Before she tipped it into the basin she paused, her eyes capturing his sternly. “I’ll be monitoring your vitals,” she warned. “If your heart rate gets too high or you appear to be in too much distress, I’ll pull you out immediately.” 

He nodded, realizing that he would agree to any of her conditions as long as she sated his morbid curiosity. 

“Based on our research, we believe this is Yaxley’s memory,” Granger explained as the silver liquid filled the basin. “It’s not like a typical pensieve memory, I’m afraid. You won’t be able to move around or see anything that he didn’t see. It will be just like you are looking at the scene from his eyes. That’s one of the reasons why it took us so long to find you. We couldn’t find any helpful details until we went through all of the memories a few times.” 

She must have been nervous. Granger always rambled like this when she was feeling anxious. With one final glance at her apprehensive features, Draco leaned forward and dipped his face into the pensieve. 

With a blink, he found himself back in the Selwyn ballroom watching himself being forced through a thick door in a glass box. He remembered the box. 

The shimmering black potion stood waiting for Draco there, bubbling and swirling aggressively against its confines, desperate to choke the life out of someone. 

Draco watched himself struggle against the door to no avail. 

“Draco Malfoy,” came a cool voice—Yaxley’s voice—speaking as if from Draco’s own throat. Memory Draco turned, his horrified silver eyes falling upon the speaker. “You stand accused of treason against the High Minister and his regime. The sentence for this crime is death. Do you have anything to say?” 

Memory Draco skirted around the potion and moved to stand at the front of the enclosure. He looked around at the Death Eaters for a moment as if seeking the right words to say. At last he opened his mouth and said, “Here’s to all you fuckers. Mindless followers to the very end.” 

Before Draco could feel at all proud of his final words, the glass containing the potion exploded, sending the potion bubbling across the floor. It sizzled and released a thick black smoke, which partially obscured Yaxley’s view. The Death Eater moved closer, carrying Draco’s consciousness with him until he was standing just on the other side of the glass. 

Draco watched with rapt horror as the boy beyond the glass began to succumb to the potion’s effects. He looked like a caged animal, clawing at the walls desperately in an attempt to get away… to  _ survive _ . He swayed where he stood, clearly losing his bearings as the vapours attacked his body. The boy fell to his knees, convulsing violently as he retched onto the marble. At last he slipped sideways onto the floor, the convulsions growing more severe and drool oozing from his lips. 

This was horrible. How many times had Granger watched this? How many times had she forced herself to watch him die before she found the clue that had located him? His heart clenched at the thought of her diving into the pensieve time and time again, unable to look away from this wretched scene, unable to help the boy in the box. 

At last Draco lay still and pale, grey eyes open and unseeing. 

Yaxley kneeled down, his face separated from Draco’s by mere inches of glass. “And you… a worthless traitor to the very end,” he sneered. His eyes raked over Draco’s prone form as if waiting for signs of life. At last he stood and turned to Dolohov. “A successful trial, wouldn’t you say?” 

The High Minister nodded. “Tell the team to prepare it en masse. When the time is right, we’ll release it upon the world.” 

With a jolt, Draco was pulled back from Yaxley’s body and found himself once again in the sterile hospital room. Granger was perched on the side of his bed now, her eyes watching his vital signs carefully. When she turned to look at him, he could clearly see tears in her eyes. She wiped them away quickly before taking the pensieve from him and placing it on his bedside table next to the fresh flowers she had brought for him.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked, her voice struggling to remain level. 

Already his memory of the attack seemed clearer… more complete. Less like a badly constructed dream. It was a horrible thing to remember, but he was glad to recall it a bit better. “Y-yes,” he said thickly, his mouth dry. 

As if sensing his discomfort, Granger reached out and picked up his cup from the bedside table and held it to his lips so that he could take a drink of water. 

“Thank you,” he murmured as she replaced the cup. 

“As you may have noticed, Yaxley was careful not to include any clues as to your whereabouts. He also made sure we knew their intentions for the potion,” Granger remarked, her tone very professional. 

“How m-many times d-did you watch?” he breathed, watching her tortured, tired eyes fill with tears once more. 

Her eyes snapped to his, a pale flush rising to her cheeks. “I lost count,” she whispered. And then her hand reached out and grabbed hold of his. 

And he felt it. 

Nothing more than a bit of pressure and a slight tingle, but he could feel her fingers wrapped around him. And before he knew it—perhaps just because he  _ could _ —he was closing his fingers around her tiny hand and squeezing. His heart was pounding in his chest as her eyes met his and her other palm came to meet their joined hands. 

“You s-saved me,” he confirmed quietly, unsure of what else to say or how to thank her for putting herself through hell for him. 

A little sob bubbled over her lips and she nodded. “Yes.” She squeezed her eyes shut against her tears. 

Draco blinked, trying to imagine her reasons for doing so. Perhaps it was just a quality of Healers, to sacrifice their own wellbeing for someone else’s. A few nights of lost sleep was a small price to pay for someone’s life, he supposed. But looking at her now and how... _ broken _ she seemed by it all, he couldn’t imagine that  _ his  _ life had been worth this. 

“Why?” he asked. 

Her eyes snapped to his, fresh tears and confusion growing in them by the second. “Why?” she parroted incredulously. Honey eyes darted rapidly between his as if his question had the most obvious answer in the world. If that were true, he certainly could not see it. “ _ Why? _ ” she repeated emphatically. 

Draco blinked, not knowing what to do or say as she descended into sobs before him. She covered her face with one hand, still clutching his hand with the other. After a moment she pulled away from him altogether and stood. “I’m sorry,” she sniffled before picking up the pensieve and leaving his room. 

Left alone once more following her sudden departure, Draco leaned back onto his pillows. Though the room around him remained the same, it felt different, somehow. He contemplated this and many other questions as his one cold hand sat exposed on top of the green blanket. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates on Mondays. Next chapter posts May 11th.   
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/graceful-lioness) to leave me asks and see sneak peeks of upcoming chapters and other works.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! I read and love them all. This is a nice long chapter. I hope you all enjoy!   
> AlphaBet love to BiscuitsforPotter and DisenchantedGlow for helping this story not be stupid.

Draco was discharged from St. Mungo’s on a snowy afternoon in early February, over a month after he had woken up from his comatose state. Though he could hardly feel his fingers or toes, his Healers were confident enough in his steady recovery to release him. From now on, unless he suffered a major setback, his primary care would be Granger’s responsibility. 

Granger, still under full-time protective watch from Potter, Charlie, and Bill, had likely been running her guards ragged. She was always popping in and out of his room at odd hours and Draco got the distinct impression that she might even be sleeping at the hospital some nights. Her guards never entered the room, but stood outside with Draco’s guard as she tended to him. 

On the morning that he learned he was being released, Granger entered his room brandishing discharge papers with a grin. She was dressed in her winter coat and scarf and had her beaded bag over her shoulder. 

He read over the papers, noticing the false address in the contact line. 

“We can’t have the headquarters address on any kind of official record,” Granger explained when he gave her a perplexed look. 

With his permission, Granger signed for him, as his hands were still too unreliable to hold a quill with any dexterity. Then, Draco held tightly to Granger as he rose from his hospital bed for the final time. Together they traveled to Headquarters. The jerk Draco felt in his navel as he touched the Portkey was the strongest sensation he had felt in weeks. As their feet hit the ground just outside the wards, Granger remained steadfast while he stumbled into her. They entered the house as quickly as Draco’s legs would allow. 

Once inside, they hung up their coats, and Draco noticed the snowflakes clinging to her hair and eyelashes as she blinked up at him. She stayed by his side as he hobbled up the stairs at a flobberworm’s pace and settled in the bedroom next to hers. 

Legs shaking and exhausted from the travel and trip on the stairs, Draco sank onto the bed and watched with fascination as Granger bustled around him. She fluffed his pillows, brought him a glass of water, and even covered him with a blanket. 

“You d-don’t have to make such a f-fuss,” he insisted. 

“I’m your Healer,” she returned as she tucked him in. Her cheeks were tinged pink as she smoothed the blanket across his chest. “I’ll set up your vital charts like you had at St. Mungo’s. That way I can be notified if your condition changes while I’m out of the room.” She waved her wand in a complicated flourish over his body and soon the magical depiction of his vital signs was projected next to his bedside table. 

She studied it for a moment before shaking her head abruptly. “Oh!” She turned away from the bed and bent over to rummage through her beaded bag. 

Draco stared at her for several seconds before remembering that it was  _ Granger’s _ arse beneath those tight, muggle jeans. How had he never noticed her arse before? Round and firm, it popped slightly to the right as she shifted her weight onto her hip. Her jumper rode up at her waist, exposing a few inches of her lower back. With a jerk, he tore his eyes away, forcing himself to think of anything but her surprisingly gorgeous backside. 

She straightened up, holding a bag in one hand and pulling on the hem of her jumper with the other as she turned around. 

Granger frowned as her eyes fell upon his vitals again. “Your heart rate is a little fast and your blood pressure is high. Are you feeling alright?” 

Draco nodded, cursing himself as his cheeks flushed. “J-just tired f-from the st-stairs.” He grimaced, despite his steady improvement in his movement and sensation, his stuttering was nearly as bad today as it had been the day he woke up. 

“Are you in any pain?” she asked, her eyes raking over his body as if looking for obvious broken bones. 

He shook his head, wanting more than anything to be left alone. “No.” 

Her eyes flickered away from his body and met his for a moment. “Er, I have your personal effects,” she announced, presenting the bag. 

Draco sat up as Hermione sank onto the edge of his bed. 

“There’s not much,” she began, pulling out the clothes he had been wearing when he’d been captured. There was also the lumpy green blanket she’d knitted for him. She held it and the clothes in her hands for a moment before placing everything in the bottom drawer of his dresser. 

“Most of what you had with you wasn’t left behind when you were abandoned at the Selwyn house, but…” she trailed off, pulling a wand from the bag. 

_ His wand.  _

Not the twelve-inch yew wand with a dragon heartstring core that he had acquired after the Battle of Hogwarts, but the one that had been plucked from his hands by Potter the night the Golden trio had been captured and then escaped the Manor. Hawthorn, ten inches, unicorn hair… 

Tentatively, he reached out and took it from her, wrapping his weak fingers around the familiar wood. It had been so long. Would this wand even recognize him anymore? Potter had won it from him long ago. But despite his weakness and the wand’s time with a new master, Draco felt his magic flare to life. Like greeting an old friend after many years. 

“Harry’s had it all this time,” Granger explained. “I know it’s not the one you’ve been using, but I hope it will work as well as it used to for you.” 

Draco’s heart thudded painfully as he stared at the wand he’d received in Diagon Alley when he was eleven. This was the wand that he had learned to perform all of his spells with. The wand that he had held when he had refused to kill Albus Dumbledore. This wand had never killed  _ anyone _ . 

A clean slate. 

He looked up at Granger, a strange feeling coursing through him. Gratitude, perhaps… a warm, light, sentimental feeling for her—running through his body unchecked. He inhaled sharply to steady his racing heart. “Thank you,” he breathed. 

She smiled. “Don’t mention it.” Standing up, she looked at his vitals once again. “Do you need anything?”    
  
Draco shook his head. 

“Are you cold? I could get you another blanket,” she offered. “I should get you some more water.”

“Really, Granger, I’m fine,” Draco insisted. As grateful as he was, he needed her gone. His emotions were running rampant thanks to her tight jeans and the return of his old wand and he needed time alone to push them back down where they belonged.    
  
She hesitated, licking her lips before speaking. “Alright. I’ll come back to check those vitals again in a couple of hours.” 

Draco didn’t respond, already growing a bit tired of her over-attentive Healer routine. Perhaps her hovering was an attempt to make up for her absence through so much of his recovery. 

Granger stood by the door shifting her weight between her feet nervously, her honey eyes landing on anything but him. “I’ll be right next door if you need me,” she said kindly. “And I—“

“Granger,” Draco interrupted wearily. “Thank you, but please leave me alone.” 

She blinked, a deep flush rising to her cheeks. With an anxious laugh she turned away. “Of course,” she mumbled before disappearing through the door. 

As soon as she closed the door behind her, Draco felt sleep overtaking him. He carefully set his wand under his pillow and nestled into the blankets, relishing the feeling of being in an actual bed. Inhaling, he was glad to be far away from the sterile smell of a hospital, even if he was now surrounded by the smell of Granger’s feminine perfume. 

* * *

He slept for hours and woke to a dark room. Reaching for his wand, he wrapped his fingers weakly around the wood and murmured “ _ L-lumos _ .” 

A feeble, flickering light appeared at the tip of his wand, illuminating the bedside clock. It was nearly eleven and his stomach was rumbling. He must have slept through dinner. Though he was briefly annoyed with Granger for not waking him, he realized that from her perspective, it may have been more important to let him sleep. 

He tossed his blankets aside and made to get up, feeling his feet flop against the floor with far less control than he would have liked. With all the grace of a newborn calf, he shuffled to the door and ventured into the dark corridor. The hawthorn wand shook in his feeble grasp and the light went out, forcing him to continue by the dim light coming from the lower level. 

He took the stairs slowly, only making it halfway down before a bushy head appeared at the bottom of the staircase silhouetted against the light coming from the parlour. 

“Draco,” Granger cried, hurrying up the stairs to meet him. “What are you doing up?” 

“B-bloody hungry,” he grumbled, leaning against the handrail. 

“You shouldn’t take the stairs alone,” she chastised, wrapping one arm around his waist to help support him. She placed her other hand against his chest and gently guided him down the remaining steps. 

He was acutely aware of her body pressed against his side, tense and warm, and how his heart was thumping against her hand. 

“Thanks,” he murmured as they reached the bottom, expecting her to release him. Instead, she kept her arms around him all the way to the kitchens, only stepping away to open the door for him. As he shuffled inside, several sets of eyes fell upon him. 

Sitting at the kitchen table were Potter, Ginny, Charlie, and Cho. Charlie stood immediately and walked over to clap Draco on the shoulder. “Good to see you up and about, mate. Come have a seat,” he said with a smile. 

Draco moved gingerly to the table and sank into an empty chair next to Charlie’s. Interacting with this many people was not what he had been planning, but he was starving. 

Granger immediately began to bustle around the kitchen to prepare him a meal. 

“How’s it feel to be out of hospital?” Cho asked brightly. 

Draco shrugged and glanced around at everyone’s encouraging faces. “Good, I g-guess. I’ve r-really just—just slept s-so far.” 

Several of their smiles wavered slightly at the sound of his stammering and Draco felt his cheeks heat in embarrassment. Ginny’s eyes flickered away from him and she took a bracing swig of the amber liquid before her. Draco noticed that they had all been drinking before he entered. 

There was a tumbler of fire whiskey at the empty seat across from him—Granger’s he supposed. Perhaps a glass of his own would ease the awkwardness he felt. “C-could I have a b-bit?” he asked hopefully, gesturing toward the bottle. 

Potter reached forward to pour him a glass with a nod, but a sharp “no” from Granger stayed his hand. 

Draco stared open mouthed at the witch. She walked to the table and set a bowl of soup and a glass of water before him. “I’m sorry,” she sighed. “The alcohol could interfere with your potions. We don’t want to slow down your recovery.” She sat down across from him and moved her own glass aside. On duty again. Always the professional. 

“I could make some tea!” Ginny offered brightly. 

“I’m f-fine,” Draco growled irritably. He picked up his spoon and dipped it into his soup. The spoon’s journey to his mouth was a treacherous one. His hands shook so badly and his hands had such a difficult time holding the utensil that hardly any soup made it past his lips. Humiliated, he tried again. After several poor attempts, the spoon finally clattered from his failing fingers, falling back into the soup and splattering the liquid over the table. “F-fuck,” Draco murmured, the unsatisfying curse only making him more frustrated. 

Granger pulled her chair around the side of the table and picked up his spoon. “Here, let me,” she offered kindly, lifting the spoon toward his mouth. 

He flinched away from her hand, swatting at the spoon. “What are you d-doing?” he snapped. 

Her mouth fell open. “I’m helping you!” 

“I d-don’t n-need your help!” 

“You’ve hardly eaten anything. Do you want to be here all night?” She hissed, her brow furrowing angrily. 

“Don’t treat m-me like a child. I-I’m not a f-fucking invalid.” He snatched the spoon from her grasp and bent low over his bowl. With shaking hands, he determinedly shoveled soup into his waiting mouth. 

“You look ridiculous.” Granger sneered. “Why won’t you just let me help you?” 

“Hermione,” Potter warned softly. “Let it go.” 

The brunette gaped at her friend. “You’re taking  _ his _ side?” she accused. 

“There are no sides,” Potter shot back. “You offered to help him and he refused. He wants to do it on his own and you just have to respect that.” 

Granger’s mouth snapped shut, her brow furrowing in frustration and a pink flush of embarrassment rising to her cheeks. “Fine,” she bit out. “I’m going to bed. One of you can accompany him back to his room.” Her angry eyes fell on Draco. “Your stubbornness won’t prevent you from breaking your neck if you fall down the stairs.” With a scowl she rose from the table and marched out of the kitchen. 

A tense silence befell the group in Granger’s absence. “Hermione just hates to see people struggling,” Ginny said offhandedly. 

“Then why is sh-she a healer?” Draco scoffed. 

“Because she can’t help but save people in need,” replied Potter. 

A cold stone of guilt settled in Draco’s stomach. Granger  _ had _ saved him. She had found him, saved his life, sat by his side at St. Mungo’s, brewed potion after potion, and lost countless nights of sleep for the sake of his well being. And how was he repaying her weeks of work and care? By snarling in her face as she tried to help him. 

He finished his soup in silence, keeping his chin close to the bowl so that his shaking hands had less distance to travel. The others at the table fell back into conversation, all deftly avoiding looking at him as he sloppily finished his meal. 

How pathetic he must look, hunched over, shoveling stew into his mouth like an ape. He kept his eyes down to avoid their pitying glances. When he finally set his spoon down he wiped his face with a napkin and pushed the bowl away. 

When he rose from the table, determined to shuffle away as quietly as possible, Charlie stood up too and walked with him out of the kitchen. The ginger man didn’t help Draco up the stairs as Granger would have, but politely kept pace with him and made conversation about a book on dragons he’d recently read. And while Draco knew that Charlie only walked with him to make sure that his unreliable legs didn’t give out on the stairs, he appreciated the man’s attempt at normality. 

After parting ways with Charlie in front of his door, Draco crossed the room by himself and clumsily climbed back into bed. Despite all the rest he had gotten earlier, sleep didn’t elude him for long. As his eyes drifted shut, an unfamiliar, unsettling feeling settled in his stomach when he remembered the feel of Granger’s arms wrapped around him.

* * *

As the days passed, the other occupants of the house tiptoed around Draco as if he were made of glass. Most people didn’t seem to know what to say to him. A few people tried, but upon witnessing his shaking hands or horrible stutter, they would smile awkwardly and make up some excuse to leave the room. Some people did a bit better. Charlie and Potter were particularly adept at ignoring Draco’s new afflictions, but even they tended to get a bit uncomfortable watching him struggle with simple daily tasks. 

Only Luna seemed to treat him as she always had. The day after he returned from St. Mungo’s she had stared at him for several seconds as he ate his morning breakfast with shaking hands before bluntly saying, “It must be terribly frustrating.” 

He had just grimaced in response and gone back to eating his toast. After that offhand comment, she had more or less ignored his shortcomings. No awkward, forced smiles or hurried excuses to leave the room. She would sit next to him and talk at great length about one thing or another while Draco pretended to listen and practiced simple spells with little success. 

For several days, Draco got by wearing pajama bottoms and t-shirts, but when Saturday arrived and the house began to fill with Order members preparing for the weekly meeting, Draco resigned himself to putting on some proper clothes. He stood in his bedroom at headquarters, feeling accomplished at having buttoned up his trousers successfully. But the buttons on his shirt were much smaller, and his trembling fingers failed time and time again to fit them through the proper holes. 

“Draco?” came a gentle voice accompanied by a soft knock at the door. 

He shuffled to the door and pulled it open. 

Granger’s mouth fell open slightly as her eyes fell upon his chest. After no more than a second she looked up to his face and cleared her throat. “The meeting is starting soon. Would you like to walk downstairs with me?” 

“Sure. I just need a m-minute,” replied Draco, turning back to the mirror to continue his futile work on his buttons. 

In the mirror’s reflection, he saw Granger step inside, keeping the door cracked open. Draco could hear the sounds of dozens of people gathering downstairs. The brunette healer kept her eyes respectfully down, perhaps afraid to offer him help again after his heated refusal a few days ago. Her cheeks were slightly pink though, and she shifted her weight between her feet like she always did when she was anxious. 

“We’ll m-miss the m-meeting at this rate,” he grumbled, still stubbornly trying to button his shirt. 

Granger looked up at him, her lips twitching as if he’d made a joke. 

Swallowing his pride he turned away from the mirror. “C-could you help me?” 

Eyebrows raised in surprise, Granger nodded and took a few tentative steps toward him as though she thought he might run away from her or swat her hands away. 

He stood quite still as her fingers set to work on his buttons from the bottom up. Twice, her fingers brushed against his bare skin and he shivered in a way he suspected had nothing to do with the coldness of her hands. As she reached the top of his shirt he let out a breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding and her eyes flickered to his briefly. After Granger finished with his buttons, she fixed his collar and smoothed out the fabric across his chest and shoulders before stepping back. “All set?” she prompted. 

“How d-do I look?” he asked teasingly. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror. She’d left the top two buttons undone, exposing some of his clavicles and chest.  _ Interesting. _

“You look… perfectly acceptable,” she said stiffly. 

Draco chuckled.  _ Perfectly acceptable? _ What had her acting so strange? Perhaps she was just fearful of offending him again. Or maybe she was still cross about his snapping at her. Both of those were perfectly logical explanations… 

But there was something about the blush on her cheeks and they way her eyes refused to meet his for longer than a few seconds. Something about buttoning up his shirt had frazzled her. Could it be… 

“Let’s go,” she insisted, making her way to the door and waiting for him to join her in the corridor. He obediently followed her and they made their way slowly down the stairs and to the dining room. 

* * *

Each day brought painfully slow progress. He spent his mornings performing a series of physical therapy exercises that MacDougall had given him. Sometimes he did these alone and sometimes Granger supervised and offered advice. She sat on the edge of his bed as he stood balanced on one foot for as long as he could, then the other foot. He marched around the room, picking up his knees as high as he could. Then he would sit down next to her and work on his ankle and foot mobility, pointing and flexing his ankles at least twenty times. 

After that it was finger dexterity exercises—diligently touching each finger to his thumb in turn as quickly as he could until his fingers felt like jelly with exhaustion. 

Granger was patient with him, providing gentle encouragement when his body failed him and he was able to do less than what he thought he would be able to. After his exercises, she watched as he attempted simple spells and charms, offering assistance occasionally. 

She brought potions each morning, some days trying new brews with refinements based on her research. On his sixth day back at headquarters, he spent the better part of the afternoon vomiting in the lavatory thanks to her latest concoction. Granger offered him several potions before finally finding one that was able to stop it. Draco heard her apologize at least a hundred times as she helped him back to his room and settled him into bed. 

“Surely th-there are easier ways to k-kill me,” Draco deadpanned as she dabbed his forehead with a cool cloth. 

“I am sorry,” she said again. “It’s not an exact science. I thought some fluxweed might speed up your progress, but it must have reacted poorly with the hellebore.” 

“It’s been over a m-month,” he intoned. “Maybe there is-isn’t a full cure.” 

Granger shook her head. “Don’t say that. You’re improving. You’ve already made so much progress.” 

“P-progress?” Draco sneered. “Look at m-me, Granger.” 

And she did. For the first time in several days, her eyes met his with a fierce determination. 

“I can’t even b-button my own f-fucking shirts. Or carry on a conversation without st-stuttering like P-professor Quirrel. I c-can barely even hold m-my wand,” he said miserably. 

Granger frowned, her eyes glistening. “I’m not giving up,” she vowed. “And neither should you.” 

“And how l-long will you be my caretaker? Eventually the w-war will end and you’ll buy your little house and p-probably marry Weasley and you w-won’t have time to brew me a dozen p-potions every day.” 

Granger wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes. “You’re being dramatic. You’ll be back to your old self before you know it—long before the war is over. And for the record, I don’t know where you got this idea that I’m going to marry Ron, but I can assure you that I am not engaged to Ron, nor do I plan on getting engaged to him or to anyone else anytime soon.” 

She softened slightly, sweeping his hair from his forehead rather clinically. “You’re my patient,” she said matter-of-factly. “I will be your caretaker for as long as it is medically necessary.” 

Draco didn’t respond. Humiliation flooded through him. When had he become so pathetic and self-pitying? 

“Now,” Granger said, standing from the edge of his bed and straightening out her jumper. “I’m going to bring you some tea with ginger to help settle your stomach. You can take the rest of today to feel sorry for yourself, but tomorrow we’ll get back to work on your recovery and I don’t want to hear anymore of this talk of you not improving. Understood?” 

Draco bristled at being scolded like a child, but nodded stiffly. 

“Good,” she bit out before turning and marching out of the room. 

* * *

Despite his reluctance to admit it, Granger had been right. After another week at headquarters, he started to notice genuine progress in his recovery. He didn’t shuffle around as horribly as he had before, and his fingers were doing a better job of gripping his wand. However, his stuttering persisted, and his feet clunked loudly as he walked. When he first came to live with the Order, he could sneak around unheard even on the creakiest floors. Now his clumsy feet hit the floor with so little control that everyone in the house surely knew his whereabouts. 

Though he knew he was improving, nothing irritated him more than the pandering, ingenuine way people pointed it out. Every time one of his fellow Order members smiled and offered him simpering praise, he couldn’t help but sneer and snap out a scathing retort. 

Due to her constant proximity, he snapped at Granger more than anyone else. And though she used to let his biting words roll off her back, they seemed to affect her more with each passing day. 

Still, she brought him potions and helped him with his physical therapy and wand work daily. 

“You can do it,” she encouraged as he tried to produce a shield charm. 

“I’m sh-shaking too badly,” he snapped, dropping his arm in frustration. 

“Support from your abdominals a bit more. You’re stronger there,” she advised from her perch on the edge of his bed. 

He shuffled his feet to a more stable stance and raised his wand again, focusing his attention on steadying his trembling hand. “ _ Protego, _ ” he said clearly. 

A feeble shield appeared before him briefly before flickering away. 

“Good,” Granger praised softly. 

“If I were being at-attacked, I’d be killed,” Draco scoffed, shooting her a glare. 

“But you’re not being attacked,” Granger reminded him sternly. “Just try again.” 

He produced another shield, this one even more pathetic than the last. “Fuck!” he swore loudly. 

“Stay calm,” Granger said warningly. 

“Stop telling me to b-be calm!” He roared. “D-do you even kn-know how frustrating it is to have everything stripped from you like this? M-magic, movement, even my f-fucking speech.” 

“These things take time,” she said calmly. “You’ve done so well. Just be patient with yourself.” 

He strode over to her, his feet clunking loudly against the wooden floor. “I am so s-sick of everyone telling me how well I’m d-doing.” 

Granger stared at him incredulously. “What would you prefer we say to you?” 

“The truth!” 

“It  _ is  _ the truth! You _ are _ doing well. You’re just being too hard on yourself.” 

“I d-don’t need everyone’s in-insincere praise. Like I’m a b-baby taking his first steps,” he snarled. 

“No one is treating you like a baby,” Granger laughed derisively. 

“Oh n-no?” he challenged. “Pay attention next t-time we’re around everyone. Th-they treat me with kid gloves, G-granger.” 

“Well maybe if you didn’t snap at anyone who tried to help you, they would treat you a bit more normally,” she countered sharply. 

“You’d s-snap at people too if you were me.” 

Granger’s eyes were piercing, her spine straight as an arrow and her voice chillingly even. “I know you’ve been through a lot, and you’re right, I don’t know exactly what you’re going through. But I think I know a bit of what it’s like to have people think that you’re incapable.” 

Draco scoffed. “You’re Hermione f-fucking Granger. Perfect little know-it-all. You c-can do anything. Who has ever treated you like you’re incapable?” 

Granger’s face was devoid of emotion. “You.”

The word hit him like a punch to the chest. She sat quite still on his bed, legs crossed at the knees, hands folded neatly in her lap—a muggleborn in a pureblood’s world, fighting to prove her right to a place in it. 

He cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks burn. “Fuck, Granger, I-I…” he stammered, not knowing what to say. “D-do you really want to p-pull at that thread right now?” 

“We’ve never talked about it,” she remarked. 

“D-do we have to?” 

“Not right now. But someday I would like to get it all out in the open.” 

“B-bloody witches always n-needing to talk about everything,” he grumbled under his breath. 

“We’re working together now,” she said sternly. “And living under the same roof. Those two facts are unlikely to change any time soon. I, for one, would like to know if you still hold the same beliefs you always have when it comes to me.” 

“I-I…” Words failed him. Had his beliefs changed? He hadn’t really thought about it much. The issue had just become so trivial in his eyes in recent years. 

She pressed on, her eyes still fixed on his face. “Just because I trust you not to kill me doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten everything you’ve ever said to me. Everything you’ve ever done.” 

Draco clenched his jaw. Apparently trust and forgiveness were two very different things. 

She stood and moved to stand before him. Close enough to touch if he would only reach out his hands. Her honey eyes darted over his features. “Am I still just a Mudblood to you?” she breathed, her voice wavering slightly. 

Draco flinched at the word and the air rushed from his lungs as she waited for his answer. 

_ No. You’re brilliant. _

It would be so easy to say, but his mouth was betraying him. Or was it his nerve? 

He must have taken too long to answer. Her brows furrowed and she took a step away from him. Arms coming up to cross over her body as she dropped her eyes to the floor. 

For a moment, he thought she might slap him, but then she brushed past him to the door. Hand on the knob, she paused and cast a glare over her shoulder at him. She opened her mouth but then snapped it shut with a huff before leaving, closing the door behind her with a bang. 

* * *

Late that evening, Draco made his way downstairs in the hope of sneaking a bit of firewhiskey. As he opened the door to the kitchen, however, he found Potter sitting at the table drinking alone. He looked up as Draco entered with a scowl. 

Without speaking, Potter summoned another glass and poured a small amount of the amber liquid into it before pushing it across the table. Draco blinked, but picked up the glass and sat down across from the Boy Who Lived. 

“Don’t tell Hermione,” Potter droned before drinking from his own glass. 

Draco smiled wryly before taking a small sip. “That witch… I swear she’ll b-be the death of m-me.” 

Potter shook his head. “You’ve had to deal with her for a few months… I’ve been putting up with her for almost nine years. Don’t get me wrong, she truly is my best friend, but I know how frustrating she can be. It’s made worse by the fact that she’s always right.” 

“Surely sh-she isn’t…” Draco began. 

“No, no,” Potter interrupted, holding up a hand. “She’s  _ always _ right,” he repeated emphatically. “Don’t even bother trying to protect your own ego. You’ll never win against her. Trust me.” 

Draco sighed and took another sip, relishing the taste of the smooth alcohol. “She’s b-been weird lately, r-right? Moodier than usual. Or is it j-just me?” 

Potter observed him closely for a moment. “It’s not just you,” he said evasively. 

“Women,” Draco chuckled evasively. 

Potter didn’t laugh with him but just looked at him a bit thoughtfully. “When do you think she started acting strange?” he asked thoughtfully. 

Draco considered this. In his mind, his days with the Order could be split up into two sections: Everything before his brush with death, and everything that had happened since. Surely he had changed immeasurably in the instant the potion had seeped into his lungs, but it seemed that Granger had as well. Perhaps the timing was purely coincidental, but before he was captured, Granger had been ferocious—a force to be reckoned with. Quick to put him in his place or bring him down a peg with a biting remark. But now she seemed…  _ diminished,  _ somehow. Still fierce, but a bit more subdued—defeated, perhaps. Looking up at Potter, he saw the wizard staring at him knowingly. 

“She lost a lot of sleep trying to f-find me, I guess. And she’s been brewing all these potions. She’s p-probably knackered,” Draco posited with a shrug. 

Potter frowned. “Why do you think she did all that for you?” 

Draco bristled slightly. “She’s g-got the same hero complex all you Gryffindors have,” he sneered dismissively. 

“Maybe,” Potter shrugged, pouring himself a bit more firewhiskey. “But why do you think she would go so far above and beyond for  _ you _ ?”

“Fuck, P-potter, I don’t know!” Draco exasperated loudly. “She’s a b-better person than I am. Is that what you want t-to hear?” It was like Potter was trying to lead him to something, some kind of conclusion that Draco was apparently too stupid to come to on his own. But between his exhausting exercises and practice sessions with Granger and her dizzying mood swings, Draco was in no mood to play Potter’s mind games. 

Potter stood, crossing to a cabinet and pulling out a small glass phial. He pulled his wand from his pocket and held it to his head. A thin, silvery wisp pulled from his temple and Potter directed it into the phial. He corked it and placed it on the table in front of Draco. 

“I was part of the team that found you,” he said. “I’ve seen Hermione go through a lot over the years, but I’ve never seen her like that before. Maybe if you see it, you’ll understand her a bit more.” 

The Auror picked up his glass and the half-finished bottle of firewhiskey and walked toward the kitchen door. “There’s a pensieve in the office,” he called over his shoulder before disappearing. 

Draco stared at the memory for a moment, swirling innocently against its glass enclosure. He had seen his death through Yaxley’s eyes. Granger had seen it too, and something within her had broken because of it. Surely finding him alive hadn’t been as bad. 

His curiosity got the better of him and he finished his firewhiskey in one gulp, snatched up the phial and made his way to the office. 

The pensieve was concealed within an ornate cabinet like the one that had stood in the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts. Draco emptied the phial into the basin and then dipped his face into Potter’s memory. 

_ The Selwyn home was dark as the small team made its way up the path. Granger at the center of the group, surrounded by Dawlish, Bill Weasley, and three Aurors that Draco did not recognize. Why had they even allowed her to come? She was supposed to be confined to the Longbottom house under twenty-four hour watch with the exception of going to work. Potter trudged behind, his green eyes darting around in search of straggling Death Eaters.  _

_ They made their way up the front steps and opened the doors. Granger’s wand shook in her grip as they entered the home.  _

_ “Fan out. Secure the house,” Dawlish barked and the others walked in different directions of the vast home.  _

_ Potter stayed with Granger as she walked quickly through the foyer. “Hermione,” he hissed, hurrying to catch up to her. “Slow down. You have to stay with us.” _

_ “He’s here, Harry. He has to be,” Granger proclaimed firmly.  _

_ “We’ll see. If he is, we’ll find him. But you can’t just run off. You’re not even supposed to be on missions.”  _

_ He grabbed her arm and turned her around to face him. There were tears in her eyes. “Yes, alright,” she conceded.  _

_ “Just wait for the all clear,” Potter insisted, holding fast to her arm.  _

_ One by one, the Aurors returned from their respective wings, declaring the area safe.  _

_ “Harry,” Bill Weasley’s voice called from a room to their left.  _

_ Potter and Granger darted down the corridor and into the ballroom. The familiar S inlay on the marble floor. It was dark, save for a small beam of light glowing at the tip of Bill’s wand. Before the ginger man was a large, dark structure.  _

_ A glass box.  _

_ Granger lit her wand and moved toward Bill on shaking legs. As she reached the box she sank to her knees, eyes fixed on the boy lying just out of reach. His skin grey and thin, eyes open, unseeing, and a haunting milky hue. His face was mere inches from the glass, his arms and legs laying limply against his body.  _

_ A choking noise erupted from Granger’s throat and she leaned forward, pressing one hand against the glass. Sobs shook her body and echoed through the dark room. Bill stepped away to provide her with a semblance of privacy, but Potter moved closer, kneeling next to her and placing a hand on her back.  _

_ She seemed to hardly notice his presence, her wails growing louder as the full force of reality sank in. Head thrown back, she cried like a wounded animal. An awful, soul shaking sound. When, at last, her sobs subsided, she leaned forward until her forehead rested against the glass. Her face was mere inches from Draco’s and she was still weeping softly as Potter wrapped his arm around her.  _

_ For several minutes they stayed there, unmoving while Granger cried. Bill and the Aurors waited at the back of the ballroom, unwilling to move in until it was more respectful to do so.  _

_ Suddenly, Granger jumped, a shattered gasp tearing from her mouth. “He’s alive,” she choked.  _

_ “What?”  _

_ “He’s alive!” she cried again, holding her lit wand near Draco’s hand.  _

_ “Hermione…” Potter said gently, as if preparing to tell her that it was impossible.  _

_ “His finger moved, Harry,” Granger insisted. “Draco! Draco, can you hear me?”  _

_ She moved her wand over to illuminate his face. The unseeing boy did not move, but as the light passed his eyes, his pupils contracted unmistakably.  _

_ “Fuck,” cried Potter. “We need some help over here!” He scrambled to his feet and waved the Aurors over. He began shouting orders at them, establishing a never-before needed protocol.  _

_ Granger stayed by the box, face close to Draco’s, palms pressed against the glass. “Hold on, Draco. You’re going to be alright. Just hold on…”  _

Draco found himself back in the headquarters office with his feet firmly on the ground. Mind swimming, he scooped Potter’s memory back into the phial and closed the pensieve cabinet, his hands shaking. 

As he walked back to his room, trying to keep his steps as quiet as possible, he thought about what he’d just seen. 

Perhaps Granger had seen so much death and destruction over the past couple of years that it had finally overtaken her. After all, everyone had a breaking point. 

One thing was for certain: he had even more questions now than before Potter had shown him the memory. 

* * *

The following morning, Draco woke up to his stomach turning painfully. His mouth watered and sweat broke out on his forehead. Quick as his feet would allow, he hurried out of bed and to the lavatory just in time to retch into the toilet. 

He heaved several times until at last his stomach was empty. Shaking, he slumped to the side and leaned on the wall. 

“Draco?” 

Draco groaned. How did Granger always materialize when he was at his most vulnerable? 

“I’m coming in,” she announced before opening the door. 

Her eyes swept over him as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Stepping closer, she kneeled next to him, biting her lip thoughtfully. Draco tried not to think about how humiliatingly intimate this was—her letting herself into a room where he’d just been sick and sitting next to him as if she accepted him anyway. 

_ She’s a healer, _ he reminded himself.  _ She’s seen much worse.  _

“Which of them gave you firewhiskey?” she asked knowingly, reaching forward to brush his fringe off of his sweaty forehead. 

Draco chuckled miserably. “I hardly had any.” 

“It doesn’t take much,” she remarked. “I did tell you that it would interfere with your potions.” 

“Consider me deeply regretful,” he deadpanned. His stomach twisted again and he bolted up to vomit into the basin once more. 

“I’ll get you something to help,” Granger said with a sigh. She left the room for a moment and appeared again holding a small phial. 

“Take this,” she ordered, thrusting the potion at him. 

Draco groaned and sat up to take his medicine dutifully. He uncorked the phial. 

“Wait,” Granger said quickly before he could tip it into his mouth. 

“What?” 

One glance at her and Draco could tell that her mind was racing. “Say something.” 

“Say something? Like what?” Draco asked irritably, feeling his stomach churn in warning. 

“Anything,” she urged. 

“Is this going to take long?” he asked. “I’m likely to vomit on your slippers if you don’t let me take this potion soon.” 

Granger looked at him pointedly, as if he had done something remarkable. When he just stared at her she broke into a grin. “Your stammer is gone!” 

Draco blinked, thinking back on the few words he’d spoken this morning. Surely he had stuttered a little. He’d hardly been able to string three words together without stumbling over them since he’d woken up in St. Mungo’s. 

“You can take the potion. I just wanted to see if it was really gone.” 

Draco stared at the phial. “Will it come back once I take this?” he asked. 

“I’m not sure. Even if it does, it’s new information that I can work with. How do your fingers feel?” 

Draco flexed his hand not holding the phial. They were still tingling and felt uncoordinated. “No better than yesterday,” he answered, his heart sinking. 

Granger frowned. “Well, at least it’s progress on one front.” She waved her hand, encouraging him to take the potion. 

He gulped down the bitter liquid and immediately felt his stomach settle. “Thanks,” he said with a cough. 

“I’ll have to look at the formula. Something about the whiskey helped you. Of course it also made you sick, so we can’t have that. I’ll try a few different things over the next few days and see if anything helps,” Granger rambled thoughtfully. 

Draco stared at her, his mind flashing to her grief upon finding him dead. The cries she made, the anguish on her face, etched into his mind as clearly as his memories of the day she’d been tortured.

She’d done so much for him in the past few weeks for reasons that he couldn’t begin to understand. No one—except his mother—had ever put forth so much effort to ensure his well being. And as annoying as her babying could be at times, she had never treated him with anything less than respect. 

And he couldn’t even tell her that he didn’t just think of her as a Mudblood anymore… 

“Granger,” Draco said suddenly, cutting off her stream of consciousness. 

Her mouth snapped shut, honey eyes watching him nervously. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “About yesterday.” He took a deep breath before pressing on. “About everything, actually.” 

Granger blinked. “Thank you,” she squeaked. A pale blush rose to her cheeks and she turned her face away from him. “Er, do you need anything else?” 

Draco shook his head slowly. 

“Great, well I’ll leave you to it then. Kingsley’s called a meeting for this evening at seven,” she informed him before leaving the lavatory. 

Draco showered and brushed his teeth before heading back to his room to dress for the day. He opted for a black jumper today to avoid having to ask for Granger’s help again. 

At quarter to seven Granger knocked on his door and walked with him down the stairs. He no longer needed assistance on the stairs, but she still offered to walk with him, perhaps out of habit. 

She seemed to be in a better mood as they made their way into the dining room and took their usual seats—her at the table and him sitting in the chair just behind her along the wall. She turned around in her chair as the other Order members shuffled in, talking to him about different ideas she had about alterations to his potions. 

“Hey,” Ginny chirped as she flounced in and sat next to Draco with a mocking grin. “Did you dress yourself today? Congratulations!” 

“Bite me,” Draco retorted, though he grinned in spite of himself. 

Finnegan’s foot collided with Draco’s as he squeezed through the narrow aisle. Draco scowled at him, but pulled his foot in. 

“Alright, Seamus?” Dean Thomas asked as his friend flopped into the chair beside him. 

Finnegan just grunted and crossed his arms over his chest. 

Charlie and Bill were among the last to enter, laughing at some shared joke as they took their seats at the table by Potter. 

“Alright, everyone. Settle down, please,” said Kingsley as he entered the room and made his way to the front of the room. 

The stragglers took their seats, all eager to know why a meeting had been called three days before their scheduled weekly gathering. 

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice. Just a couple of things on the agenda for today and then you can all get back to it,” Shacklebolt said calmly. His eyes fell upon Granger. 

“Hermione, how’s your potions work coming?” The minister asked. 

Granger sat up straight in her chair, thrilled for the opportunity to impress the Minister. She used to do the same thing when she was called on in school. Practically vibrating with excitement. 

“It’s been slow, but I think we’ve stumbled upon some new information that will be helpful,” Granger reported proudly. 

“Good. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you the dire importance of solidifying the proper formula.” 

“No, sir,” Granger intoned seriously. 

“Next, I would like to introduce a new member,” Shacklebolt continued. 

A murmur of confusion rippled through the group. Some people looked around as if seeking a stranger sitting amongst them. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” Kingsley began, making Draco jump. “It seems your defection has started a trend. Allow me to introduce our newest addition.” 

The door to the sitting room opened and in walked a person Draco thought he’d never see again. Long dark hair swishing over her shoulders, ice blue eyes landing on him, and red lips parting in shock. 

Kingsley smiled and gestured to the witch. “Please welcome Pansy Parkinson.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review if you're so inclined! Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/graceful-lioness) for sneak peeks and to actually get a response from me if you want one! 
> 
> Updates every Monday. Next chapter posts on May 18th.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and commenting. I love hearing your thoughts and theories! 
> 
> AlphaBet love to BiscuitsforPotter and DisenchantedGlow

Pansy Parkinson was a beautiful witch. Fair, porcelain skin contrasted by sleek, black hair. She had grown into her pug-like nose over the past few years and now sported refined, delicate features. Her blue eyes were piercing and her sharp, red fingernails matched the lipstick on her full lips. She was dressed in perfectly tailored black robes and stylish heels which clicked against the hardwood floors as she entered the room. 

But despite her obvious beauty, Draco could only notice one thing about the girl standing next to Shacklebolt: darkness. 

Darkness in the energy she brought in with her, in her self-righteous posture, in her eyes as they settled on Draco. 

Her eyes widened in obvious surprise at seeing him there. Possibly because the Death Eaters believed that he was dead, possibly because she just hadn’t expected to see him sitting contently between Ginny Weasley and Cho Chang. 

The instincts that had been sleeping since his brush with death suddenly flared to life. Everything within him screaming the same thing: Pansy Parkinson was _dangerous_. 

Theo had said that she’d been angry when Draco left. That she’d thrown herself into every mission Dolohov would let her take. 

Kingsley was speaking, but Draco was solely focused on Pansy. Her eyes dragged over each person in turn, assessing the group. When her eyes fell upon Granger, Draco’s blood ran cold. 

_What’s one less Mudblood in the world?_

Those had been her words. Harsh, cold, and without a second thought to the life Draco should have taken. 

Granger could still be a target. There was no reason to believe that the Death Eaters had called off the hit. Could Pansy have been sent here to murder Granger? Draco sat up a bit straighter, wondering how quickly he could draw his wand if Pansy made a move against her. He faltered as he remembered his condition. Even if he could draw his wand, would he even be able to fire a spell? 

Granger did not seem concerned. She merely tilted her head to the side in curiosity. In fact, no one in the room seemed to be at all worried. 

Draco recalled the outcry that had accompanied his introduction to the Order, and couldn’t help but feel slightly insulted that Pansy was not experiencing similar prejudice. 

Perhaps they were more open to the thought of Death Eater defectors now that he was a member. Or maybe they were just less inclined to shout abuse at a woman. Whatever their reason, everyone in the room sat peacefully as Shacklebolt introduced Pansy. 

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the Minister dismissing the meeting until there was a sudden scraping of chairs and most of the Order members began to vacate the room. Granger, Potter, McGonagall, Dawlish, as well as Arthur, Bill, and Charlie Weasley all stayed put, and Draco cursed himself for not listening to Shacklebolt’s instructions. Surely he hadn’t been asked to stay; it was mostly the people that Draco had come to think of as the inner circle. 

He rose to leave, following Ginny out into the living room. 

“Draco.” Pansy’s voice was smooth as silk as she blocked his path to the arm chairs. 

“Pansy,” he greeted stiffly. “This is a s-surprise.” 

Her eyes darted back and forth between his, clearly disappointed by the welcome she was receiving. “I thought you were dead,” she breathed, eyes growing teary. 

“No. Only mostly dead, thank you,” Draco droned. 

Pansy’s lip twitched and she opened her mouth to reply, but seemed to get distracted by someone’s presence to Draco’s left. “Oh, hello, Weasley. Good to see you,” she sniffed at Ginny. 

The youngest Weasley looked Pansy up and down, her freckled arms crossed over her chest. She made a little disapproving noise before smirking. “Nice shoes. Planning to wear them into battle?” 

Pansy didn’t seem fazed in the slightest, she merely quirked an eyebrow, her lips curling over her perfect teeth. “It’s always important to make a good first impression, is it not?” 

Ginny scoffed. “You know, that’s true. I seem to recall you teasing me for being poor on my first day at Hogwarts. Or was it about my freckles? I’m not sure. All I remember is what a vapid bitch you were.” 

Pansy’s smile fell slightly, but she straightened her spine, her heels granting her enough height to be eye level with Ginny. “I’ve grown up a lot since then.” 

Ginny shrugged. “We’ll see.” With all the confidence of a girl who had grown up with six brothers, Ginny brushed past Pansy and disappeared into the kitchen. 

Pansy turned back to Draco. “Were they this welcoming when you arrived?” she quipped. 

“No. They’ve rolled out the red c-carpet for you,” Draco replied dryly. “What are you d-doing here, Pansy?” 

Pansy glanced around at the dwindling crowd of Order members before looking back into his eyes. “I heard about what happened to you,” she breathed. “I was abroad when it happened and just got back last week. When Theo told me… I—I couldn’t stay. I’d felt so trapped for so long and that was what finally gave me the courage to leave it all behind.” 

“So you might be the next one to fall victim to Yaxley’s p-potion?” Draco retorted. 

“I’d rather fall victim to it than be responsible for it,” she insisted. 

“Admirable,” Draco nodded, irrational anger bubbling up within him. “B-but that’s easy to say when you haven’t choked to d-death on it.” 

Pansy’s eyes grew fearful and she looked him over, eyes lingering on his scuffed shoes, pullover jumper, and unshaven face. A new look settled on her face, an expression he’d grown too familiar with in the past few weeks. Pity. 

The dining room doors opened and Draco turned to shuffle out of the way as the inner circle emerged. 

“Pansy,” Shacklebolt greeted. “Thank you for your patience. I’d like to introduce you to your probationary mentor, Charlie Weasley.” 

“Pleasure to meet you,” Pansy smiled as Charlie stepped forward. The ginger man shook her hand politely. 

“Pansy,” Charlie smiled. “Let me know if you have any questions about the Order. We’ve been assigned to the Westenberg house for the week. We’ll take a Portkey there tomorrow morning. Draco will be joining us, along with Hermione. I figured having an old friend nearby would make you more comfortable.” 

“How thoughtful,” Pansy said, flashing the ginger man a charming grin. Draco frowned. No one had considered that her presence would make him extremely uncomfortable. Pansy stepped forward, her eyes falling on Granger again. “Hermione,” she purred, making Draco shiver. “How lovely to see you again. I hope that our unfriendly past won’t get in the way of our working together. I would very much like to start over with all of you.” 

Warning bells were ringing in Draco’s mind. He could see through Pansy’s false charms too easily. She was up to something, he was sure of it. 

“Not at all,” Granger offered with a half smile, her eyes darting quickly to Draco’s before returning to Pansy. “We’re all happy to have you here.” 

Pansy’s arm darted out for a handshake and Draco flinched, hand twitching toward his wand before stopping himself. Granger grasped Pansy’s hand firmly with a smile, her other hand tucking a curl demurely behind her ear. Pansy slowly turned her head in his direction, eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher the meaning of his involuntary spasm. Her lip twitched before turning back to Granger. 

Draco cursed internally, reminding himself that if Pansy _were_ here to assassinate Granger, she would be daft to do it now in front of the Minister of Magic himself and at least ten other highly trained Order members. 

As they all made their way up the stairs, Draco took slow, careful steps, determined not to show Pansy how weak he had become. If she still feared him, perhaps she would think twice about harming anyone here. 

“Potter,” he hissed before the scarred wizard could disappear into his bedroom for the evening. Draco beckoned to him, holding the door open to his room so that Potter could step tentatively inside. Draco closed the door. “Is Granger’s p-protection still in place?” 

Potter’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Yes,” he said slowly. 

“There are st-still wards on her room each evening?” Draco confirmed. 

Potter blinked. “Yes.” 

“Good.” 

“Do you have reason to believe that the threat against her has intensified?” Potter asked. 

Draco dragged his fingers through his hair. “Not exactly, I just…” he trailed off, debating whether he should share his suspicions. 

“Parkinson took all the same tests you did, Malfoy,” Potter told him. “She was specifically asked about Hermione under Veritaserum. Apparently, she knows nothing about Hermione being targeted.” 

Draco frowned, wishing he could get his hands on the official transcript of the interrogation to look for loopholes that Pansy could have exploited. 

“Listen,” Potter sighed. “I’ll strengthen the wards on her room and make sure her other guards and I are extra vigilant until Parkinson’s probationary period has ended. Just to be safe, yeah?” 

Draco nodded. “J-just to be safe.” 

* * *

Early the following morning, Draco met Granger, Potter, Charlie, and Pansy in the living room so that they could catch their Portkey to the Westenberg house together. Once they arrived, Draco shuffled up the stairs with Granger holding his arm in case the trip had made him unsteady, and he pretended not to be bothered by Pansy’s eyes on their backs as she followed them. 

When they reached Draco’s room, he held the door open so that Granger could enter first before following her in and shutting the door. With a sigh, he set down his rucksack and shed his coat. 

“I know you might not be thrilled to have left headquarters,” began Granger. “But I think it’ll be good for your recovery. There are fewer people here, so there’s more privacy to practice your spell work and physical therapy. Plus the office here is much better equipped for my potions work. I’d gotten quite tired of brewing potions in my bedroom when Kingsley and Dawlish needed the office.” A nervous sort of laugh escaped her as she set up the vital charts he’d had at St. Mungo’s and Headquarters. 

“It’s f-fine, Granger,” Draco insisted. Perhaps she had mistakenly attributed his foul mood surrounding Pansy to actually be about their safe house assignment for the week. 

She frowned over her shoulder at him. “I know your stammer is back. I’ll work on it. I have a theory about the enzymes used in firewhiskey that I’m hoping will yield some results for you.” When she had completed the charts, she turned back to him and pocketed her wand. “I have your daily potions as well,” she announced, reaching into her bag and procuring two small phials. 

He dutifully took his medicine, swallowing each one without complaint. In the weeks since he had woken up in St. Mungo’s he had grown quite used to gulping down Granger’s nauseating potions, though he did look forward to the day when he might not need them anymore.

“Breakfast is ready,” Charlie called from the corridor. 

Draco opened the door and exited his room, Granger in tow. At the next door down, Potter was finishing warding Granger’s room and across from him, Pansy stood in the doorway to her own room, regarding him with confusion and curiosity as Granger brushed past him with a smile. 

Granger traipsed down the stairs toward the enticing scent of bacon and eggs. Draco watched her go before turning back to Pansy, who was still staring at him as if he were a different man than the one she’d known. And perhaps he was. 

“You…” she began carefully. “...and Granger…” 

Draco grimaced and pulled his bedroom door shut. “She’s my _healer_ , Pansy,” he growled warningly. 

“And that’s all?” Pansy prompted, arching a brow quizzically. 

Draco’s heart thudded in his chest. 

_What’s one less Mudblood in the world?_

“That’s all,” he insisted, turning away from her and walking carefully down the stairs. 

* * *

That evening, after everyone in the house had eaten dinner, Granger retired early. Charlie and Potter retreated into the office to discuss Order business, leaving Draco and Pansy sitting in the living room. He watched her carefully from his armchair. She had toed off her stilettos and pulled her legs up onto the couch as she sipped from a glass of wine. Draco couldn’t help but think that she appeared far too comfortable after only one day in the Order. 

“So what did Dolohov have you doing abroad?” Draco asked, leaning his elbow on the armrest of the chair in an effort to appear relaxed. He hoped Pansy wouldn’t sense his suspicion. Playing nice was a far better tactic than revealing any shred of doubt he had about his old friend. 

If he played his cards right, maybe he could even get some information out of her before she betrayed them all. 

“Recruiting mostly.” She paused to lift her wine glass to her lips. “Dolohov encouraged me to use my… _charms_ to the advantage of the organization.”

Draco’s blood ran cold at the thought of Pansy luring men into the Death Eater organization in such a way. “He made you—” 

“Oh, no!” Pansy insisted with a little laugh and a dismissive wave of her hand. “He didn’t make me. He merely suggested. And I just found that men are much more easily… _persuaded_ when lying on their backs.” 

Draco grimaced. How could she be so cavalier about being used in such a way? 

“Don’t make that face,” Pansy chastised. “I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do, I assure you. Plus, it was a nice distraction after you left. Dolohov was… well, let’s just say it wasn’t pleasant for a few weeks.” 

“I’m sorry that my leaving made things worse for you all,” Draco muttered. “Theo mentioned how bad things were.” 

Pansy shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad for me,” she said, running one manicured finger over the rim of her wine glass. 

“And why is that?” Draco asked, eyeing her wine enviously. He desperately wished that he could have a bit of alcohol, but he didn’t fancy another morning of vomiting in front of Granger. 

“Dolohov is a bit of a chauvinist,” Pansy admitted, rolling her eyes. “The men—especially the men he thought might be loyal to you—got the worst of it. He used some really extreme means to interrogate them. Torture, Veritaserum, the works. I heard nothing but screams for days.” She shuddered, hastily gulping down more wine. “I was under scrutiny, yes. But we women didn’t get it as bad as the men... as bad as Theo did." 

She didn’t elaborate on this, and Draco frankly didn’t care to ask.

“Plus,” she added, schooling her expression. “I went abroad just a few weeks later. Dolohov couldn’t put his wand to me while I was in Italy.” 

Italy… 

When Weasley had been in the country a few months ago, he had said something about Italy. There had been killings there—assassinations of the most brutal kind. 

“Theo told me that Dolohov trained my replacement,” Draco blurted out. 

Pansy frowned. “I heard the same thing.” 

“Any idea who it is?” He asked pointedly. 

She shook her head, silky black hair brushing over her shoulders. “They’ve been very secretive about it. But they said he’s very good. Ruthless, tactful. That he really _enjoys_ it,” she shivered visibly. “They’ve started referring to him as ‘The Reaper’.”

Draco scoffed. Any assassin who needed a nickname was obviously compensating for something. “The Reaper?” he repeated with a smirk. “Does he carry a scythe and wear a black cloak?” 

“Be serious, Draco. You were trained by Dolohov. You know exactly how dangerous this person could be,” Pansy chastised with a frown. 

Draco grimaced at the thought of his training. She had a point. This person, whoever he or she was, was a carefully crafted weapon. 

Pansy jerked her head towards the office door by the stairs. “Do they know what you are?” 

“I was interrogated just like you were when I got here.” 

“I figured that Shacklebolt knew.” Pansy rolled her eyes. “Does _she_ know?” 

Draco glanced toward the stairs. “Yes,” he replied simply. 

“You told her?” Pansy asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise. 

“No. She guessed.” 

“She always was the brilliant one,” Pansy murmured before returning to her wine. “So she knows, and yet she still holds your arm as you walk up the stairs and goes with you behind closed doors?” 

“She’s a healer,” Draco said simply. “And a Gryffindor. They always did have more courage than sense.” 

Pansy sat back in her chair, eyes taking Draco in thoughtfully. “You’re very comfortable with them… especially her.” 

Draco bristled, growing more and more uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “She was my probationary mentor. Now she’s my healer. I’ve had to spend a lot of time with her.” 

“Had to? Or gotten to?” Pansy smirked, lifting an eyebrow pointedly. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco snapped. 

“You two are just very… _cozy_ , is all.”

“She saved my life, Pans. Am I supposed to keep hating her forever? She saved my life, and now she’s my healer. _That’s all_.” Anger bubbling up inside him, he rose quickly and stalked out of the room, his shoes clunking against the wooden floor as he went. 

* * *

“You must be happy to have Pansy here,” Granger probed the following afternoon. She was perched on the edge of his bed while he performed his therapy exercises. 

Draco glanced at her as he finished his series of heel raises. She was twirling a curl around her finger, and while she typically watched him diligently as he executed his ridiculous exercises, she was gazing off into space as if her mind was far away. 

“What m-makes you think that?” Draco grumbled, lifting his left foot to balance on one leg. 

“Well, you two were always so close at school, I guess I just assumed…” Her free hand ran absentmindedly over the green blanket she’d knitted for him. She’d smiled when she’d walked into his room and seen it spread on the bed and had sat down upon it with a pink flush in her cheeks. 

“We’re not close,” Draco bit out. 

Granger looked up at him, her lips parted slightly. “Oh…” 

Draco switched feet, sensing that there was something she was holding back. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Granger chirped a bit too loudly. She dropped her curl and put her hands in her lap, sitting up a bit straighter and refocusing her attention on him. “Keep your hips level,” she instructed. 

Draco dropped one hip, touching his toe down briefly when he lost his balance for a moment. “Just b-be careful around Pansy, yeah?” he advised vaguely. “She’s a snake.” 

Granger’s mouth twitched. “So are you.” 

A short laugh escaped his mouth as he returned his foot to the floor. “Exactly. So you know how d-dangerous she could be.” 

Brown eyes darted away from him briefly as she drew her bottom lip between her teeth. “Ready for your spellwork?” she asked. 

Draco nodded and drew his wand, preparing himself for another disheartening day of failed charms. 

“Start with the shield charm, yeah?” she said, standing from the bed.

Summoning his magic, Draco lifted his wand and uttered, “ _Protego._ ”

The shimmery shield materialized before him. It was stronger than his last attempt and for a brief moment he felt a surge of elation run through him. 

And then something soft burst through the shield and hit him square in the chest. 

“Fucking hell!” He stumbled back, eyes darting to the pillow that had been lobbed at him by a mischievous witch. 

“What d-did you do that for?” he growled. 

Granger just grinned and shrugged innocently. “I thought you might need a little motivation.” She picked up another pillow from the bed. “Try again. And make sure you’re ready this time, because this one’s coming for your head.” 

Draco barely had time to produce a shield before a fluffy white pillow bounced off of it. 

“Good!” Granger praised with a grin, picking up another pillow. She threw it at him with surprising strength for a witch of her size. It hit the shield and dropped to the floor, but the strain of maintaining the spell grew too much for Draco. It flickered away, and the next pillow hit him in the face. “Oops. Sorry.” Though the apology flew from her lips, it hardly seemed sincere. Probably because of the laugh that followed immediately after. 

“You’ll p-pay for that, Granger,” Draco warned with a wicked grin, bending to pick up one of the pillows and throwing it back at her. 

She squeaked and turned away, arms covering her head. The pillow hit her shoulder and she rounded on him, eyes alight with mirth. “Hey!” she admonished. “You’re supposed to be defending yourself.” 

“If you wanted a pillow fight, Granger, all you had to do was ask,” Draco teased. 

Granger’s cheeks flushed crimson. “We should probably—“ 

Draco didn’t know why he did it—perhaps childish fun was so lacking these days that he simply couldn’t resist—but he crossed the room, pillow in hand, aiming for her frizzy head and…

_Thwack!_

Granger stared at him, mouth agape. He smirked down at her and raised an eyebrow in challenge. 

In the next instant, Granger summoned a pillow and swung it with all her might against his arm. Suddenly feeling as alive as he did on the Quidditch pitch, Draco battled her with as much childish enthusiasm as he could muster. He felt his senses heighten as if seeking out the golden snitch. Air rushed to his lungs as he swung his pillow against her middle. 

Granger squealed with delight as she pummeled him in return. He had never seen her laugh so freely, and soon he found himself laughing right along with her. 

Draco felt the swirl of her magic and looked around to see that she had every pillow in the room zooming toward him. Instinctively, he raised his wand and produced a shield, but it was too slow for one of the pillows. It smacked into his hip and sent him stumbling into Granger where they fell in a pile onto the bed. 

Granger was beneath him, small and warm, her hair spread around her head like a halo. They were both panting, chests colliding clumsily with each ragged inhale. A final little laugh escaped her before her eyes went a bit wide. Her hand was on his arm and her fingers tightened around his bicep. 

His breath hitched in his throat as her eyes flickered to his mouth. Her lips were parted and pink, little puffs of air escaping them, and Draco wondered—not for the first time—what it might be like to kiss them. 

“Hermione?” A voice called from beyond the door. “Everything alright?” 

They jumped apart, scrambling to their feet and dropping their pillows to the floor. Draco adjusted his trousers as inconspicuously as he could and picked up his wand. 

“Yeah, Harry!” Granger squeaked, tugging at the bottom of her shirt. She bolted for the door, cheeks burning, hands trying furiously to smooth her hair. She pulled the door open to reveal Potter standing quite close, as if a moment before he had had his ear pressed against the door. “We were just practicing some spell work.” 

Potter stared at Granger’s red cheeks and frazzled hair before his eyes darted around the room. Pillows scattered the floor and Draco stood stiffly by the bed, trying very unsuccessfully to act naturally. “Right…” he drawled, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “Well, if you two are… _finished_ , we’re having a house meeting downstairs in a minute.” 

“Great. Thank you.” Granger turned away from Potter and walked back to Draco to scoop her wand off the bed, deftly avoiding his eyes. Turning and marching back to the door, she sidled past Potter. “Shut up, Harry,” she growled. 

Potter raised an amused eyebrow, holding up his hands defensively. “I didn’t say anything.” 

The two of them disappeared down the stairs and Draco trailed after them a moment later. What the hell had just happened? Had he honestly nearly _kissed_ Granger? He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the image of her beneath him, the feeling of her pressed against him, the way her eyes had flickered to his lips as if waiting… 

_Fuck._

No. Absolutely not. He could not be having these thoughts about _Granger._ She was strictly off limits. Even ignoring their contentious past, Pansy was sure to act against Granger if she knew that Draco was beginning to think of her in such ways—which he wasn’t. Was he? 

No. Absolutely not. 

But Pansy already suspected that he was, and Draco couldn’t allow that. 

* * *

Despite Draco’s suspicions about her, Pansy seemed to get along very well with the other inhabitants of the Westenberg house. While Draco had hidden himself away for several days after he’d arrived, Pansy seemed eager to socialize as much as possible. By the end of her first week there, it seemed that she had become friends with everyone. Even Potter seemed to have warmed up to her. 

After Draco had warned Potter to check the wards on Granger’s room, he had been wary of Pansy for several days. He kept his distance in the common areas of the house and was cold and short with her whenever they had to speak. 

But after four days, Pansy approached Potter in the kitchen. Draco had been sitting at the table, his face buried in a copy of that day’s _Daily Prophet_. He’d been surprised to hear Pansy go out of her way to strike up a conversation with The Boy Who Lived.

“Listen, Harry,” she began timidly. “I wanted to apologize about what happened last year at Hogwarts.” 

Draco looked up from his spot at the kitchen table in surprise. Potter regarded Pansy with skeptical curiosity as she stood tall before him, poised as ever even when gravelling. 

“I was young and frightened and I’m truly sorry.” 

After a moment of tense silence, Potter nodded and offered her a tight smile. “Apology accepted.” 

And just like that, another ally Draco had against Pansy was gone. 

Draco couldn’t blame everyone for readily accepting her. She was helpful and charming. Though she wasn’t allowed to use her wand outside of official Order business, she always volunteered to help cook dinner or to do the washing after meals by hand. She seemed genuinely invested in getting to know each person and making amends for how she had behaved in the past. 

After a week, Ginny and Seamus Finnegan joined the team at Westenberg. Finnegan seemed to dislike Pansy, but in honesty he seemed to dislike everyone. He was even surly with his former Gryffindor classmates. The man was even quicker to snap than Draco was, and spent most of his time alone or sitting quietly and scowling through meetings and meals. 

Much to Draco’s chagrin and despite their previous interaction at headquarters, Pansy and Ginny quickly became friends. He had hoped that the youngest Weasley would maintain her distrust of Pansy, but it seemed that wouldn’t be the case. 

Normally, Ginny would have spent her free time with Potter or Granger, but with the two of them frequently occupied with their own duties, the youngest Weasley had little else to do but get to know the newest Order member. And strangely enough, they hit it off. 

On Ginny’s second evening at the Westenberg house, everyone sat in the living room after dinner. Charlie turned the dial of the old radio until he found a scratchy station barely coming through. A Weird Sisters song was wrapping up, and for just a moment, Draco felt like he was back at the Yule Ball dancing with Pansy. 

The dark haired witch looked up at him from across the room and smiled, apparently remembering their fourth year date as well. He returned a thin smile back to her before averting his eyes. 

“That was The Weird Sisters with _Magic Works_ ,” said the announcer as the song ended. “Next, we have a classic hit from Celestina Warbeck.” 

“Oh no!” Ginny and Pansy moaned simultaneously. 

There was a beat of silence as the two witches looked at each other incredulously, their eyes slowly lighting up. 

“You don’t like her either?” Ginny asked. 

Pansy groaned and rolled her eyes. “I hate her! My mother used to listen to her all the time! She even went to several of her concerts and dragged me along with her.” 

“Our mother loves her too,” Ginny gushed, gesturing to Charlie. “Never went to any concerts, luckily, but the entire family was subjected to her albums every Christmas.” 

Pansy dropped her magazine into her lap and turned her body toward Ginny, drawing her legs up under herself. “I don’t get it,” she said conspiratorially. “She uses actual banshees as her backup singers. _Banshees!"_

Ginny laughed, and the two of them fell into easy conversation about their shared hatred. 

The following morning, Draco entered the kitchen to find Ginny and Pansy sitting next to each other at the kitchen table, heads close together as they shared a magazine. 

Potter stood by the stove, stirring scrambled eggs and occasionally casting annoyed glances over his shoulder at the two witches. When Draco approached him to retrieve a mug from the cupboard, Potter grumbled under his breath, “I liked it better when they hated each other.” 

“Ooh! Look at the Tornados’ new uniforms!” Ginny squealed. 

“Very flattering,” Pansy agreed, nodding appreciatively. “Look at Middleton’s biceps.” 

Ginny hummed her agreeance. “I’d climb him like a tree.”

“Hey!” Potter protested, scowling at his girlfriend. 

The redhead just grinned at Potter before continuing to gush over the fit Quidditch players in the magazine. 

Draco frowned as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He had been depending on Ginny to be suspicious of Pansy, but it seemed that wouldn’t be the case. 

* * *

For his part, Draco did his best to keep Granger at arm’s length after what nearly happened between them. With the exception of their daily sessions of spell work and physical therapy, he tried to avoid her as much as possible. He took meals at odd times and mostly stayed in his room, only emerging when he knew that she would be hard at work in the office. Although he knew that it was for the best, it was difficult for him to stay away from her. Especially since all he wanted these days was to be near her. Every time she walked into his room to deliver potions or help him with his spell work, his heart sped up and an annoying fluttering settled in his stomach. 

It seemed that Granger was taking similar precautions. She never sought him out beyond their necessary interactions, and when they worked together, she no longer sat on his bed, but stood stiffly near the door as if she may need to run away at a moment's notice. 

Despite her sudden coldness, she was still as attentive as ever as she watched him work. It seemed she had been onto something when she’d thrown pillows at his shield. He’d been thinking too much about how weak he’d become and not allowing his natural instincts and abilities to take control. 

Granger now had him summoning pillows and deflecting her disarming spells. His simple spells and charms up through fifth year levels had all returned to him. He was far from the skill level he had once possessed, but he could feel his strength returning to him little by little every day. 

Draco began to dread the day when Granger inevitably released him from her care and he wouldn’t feel the annoying fluttering in his stomach as often. He knew that day was fast approaching. After that, they would no longer be required to stay in the same safe house. He might be stationed elsewhere, and if Pansy was with Granger and he was not, there would be no one to keep an eye on her. Yes, Granger was still under protective watch, but Draco knew that they were now much more relaxed while at the safe houses. They didn’t seem to think that they could be reached on Order properties, and it was increasingly clear that no one else suspected that Pansy might have nefarious intentions. 

To his horror, Draco noticed that Pansy and Charlie had started to become… _close._ Furtive glances and blushing cheeks, coy smiles and flirtatious touches. All the things that Pansy had once bestowed upon Draco, she now seemed to reserve for Charlie. Several nights in a row, he noticed that the two of them stayed up late in the living room, chatting and sipping tea. Pansy’s body turned alluringly toward Charlie’s on the couch as she dragged her nails through her silky hair. 

In the mornings, the two nearly always made breakfast together the muggle way, Charlie’s body close to Pansy’s to help her turn the eggs or to reach for a plate. They laughed and spoke in hushed tones, all the while making Draco’s stomach turn. 

As the weather warmed, Potter, Ginny, and Charlie made their way outdoors and took to the skies. As Draco was still too unwell to fly, Pansy offered to be their fourth, which led to several flying lessons from Charlie. From the kitchen window, Draco saw the two of them flying through the garden, Charlie’s arms wrapped around Pansy’s middle as she steered the broom this way and that. 

Under normal circumstances, Draco wouldn’t be at all concerned about what— _or who_ —occupied Pansy’s time and attention. But Charlie was her superior, and Draco couldn’t help but wonder if his position of power over her was a contributing factor in her interests. 

_Men are much more easily persuaded when lying on their backs._

Draco’s instincts told him that Pansy’s apparent interest in Charlie was merely a ruse in order to manipulate her mentor. Seduce him and gain his trust, thereby gaining the trust of the Order.

Worst of all, Pansy managed to fall into Granger’s favor as well. Pansy shrewdly found her opportunity with Granger when she noticed a book that they had both read. It was too simple, really. Draco saw through it immediately. Any fool would use books to get into Granger’s good graces. Though he had hoped that Granger wouldn’t be so easily won over, the bookworm lit up at the chance to talk about the novel, immediately asking Pansy what her favorite scene had been, and if she’d been utterly devastated when her favorite character perished. 

It was like watching a runaway bludger careen toward the stands and being unable to stop it. Pansy had manipulated everyone in the Westenberg house and no one seemed to be able to see through her charms. 

No one except Draco. 

He knew he had to do something. He couldn’t just wait around until Pansy attacked. He couldn’t just hope that Granger would be safe. 

He had to be sure. 

* * *

Sneaking around was much harder than it used to be. Gone were his catlike reflexes and silent steps. Though he now had faith that they would return to him in time, he couldn’t stand around on his clumsy feet and wait until they did. 

One bright Saturday, Draco waited until he could hear peals of girlish laughter drifting in from the garden before making his way up the stairs as quietly as he could. 

Pansy was not allowed to use her wand unless her life depended on it. She never even carried it with her, choosing instead to depend on others for simple spell work and prove that she was accepting of their conditions. But Draco knew how crafty she was. No wards were impenetrable, including the ones on her wand. If she found a way to break them, there was no limit to the havoc she could wreak. 

He had contemplated snatching the wand, replacing it with a replica and taking away her ability to use magic entirely. But he knew that wasn’t the right move. Even when he had been on probation, Draco had needed his own wand to help with clean-up on missions. 

No, he couldn’t just take it. That would arouse suspicion. Pansy would need something functional if she was called to help. 

It would be a complex spell, but he was sure he could manage given enough determination and time. 

Draco crept into Pansy’s room and tiptoed to her bedside table. Her wand was waiting in the top drawer, looking equal parts innocent and deadly. Draco picked it up and held it between his fingers. 

There was no doubt in his mind, this wand had performed dark magic. The way it pulsed in his hand was all too familiar, all too repulsive. 

Drawing his own wand and summoning his magic, he whispered a series of spells. It took several tries over several days. He snuck into her room while she was in the shower or eating meals or with Charlie in the garden. Finally, he managed it, and his spells took hold of the wand in his hand. 

Pansy would be able to use her wand on assignment if necessary, but within this house or any other Order property, it would be as useless as an ordinary stick. Unmagical, useless… _safe._

Once Pansy’s probation had ended and she had proven herself trustworthy, he would reverse the spell, but until then _this_ was the only way Draco could ensure that Granger was safe. 

And he would go to any lengths to keep her safe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Monday  
> Next chapter posts on May 25th
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/graceful-lioness) to interact with me and leave me asks!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alphabet love to BiscuitsforPotter and DisenchantedGlow for their wonderful editing and advice.

Trying to keep a watchful eye on Pansy over the next two weeks was running Draco ragged. Between days spent with Granger doing physical therapy and spell practice, and evenings spent observing Pansy’s every move, there wasn’t much time left to sleep. And the little sleep that he did get was often riddled with vivid nightmares. 

Granger was always there in his dreams, seeming smaller than she was in real life, helpless… vulnerable. Dark shadows hovered just behind her, but she never saw them. It was as though only  _ he _ could see the danger. He tried to call out to warn her, but his tongue failed him. When he lunged for his wand, he found it useless and ineffective in his clumsy hands, and his legs turned to jelly when he tried to run to her. All the while the dark shadow loomed closer, towering over the tiny golden girl before enveloping her in its long claws. 

Draco woke gasping, bolting upright in bed, a cold sweat on his brow. Quieting his ragged breath, he listened intently for the sounds of anything amiss in the house. He rose from the bed and tiptoed to the door. When he peeked into the corridor, the house seemed peaceful and still, but it didn’t stop him from padding to Granger’s door. The wards were still in place, he could feel the magic repel his hand as he reached for the knob. If anyone had entered her room, the wards would have broken. She was safe. 

Though he knew this to be true, at least for now, his heart was pounding in his chest at the thought of being unable to protect her. Knowing that sleep was likely to evade him, Draco sank to the floor beside her door, knees to his chest, wand in hand, his ears piqued for any sound that might be out of the ordinary. 

He drifted in and out of sleep, the visions before his eyes caught somewhere between dreams and reality. Granger’s door opened and she discovered his vigilant watch. With a smile, she sank to her knees before him and leaned forward, brushing his tousled fringe away from his forehead with delicate fingers. She traced the edge of his jaw, thoughtfully drawing her bottom lip between her teeth before leaning in. He tilted his head, hands reaching forward to draw her close and tangling his fingers in her curls. Her lips brushed his. Gently at first, and then more urgently. Shifting his legs, he pulled her forward until one of her legs swung over his lap. Kissing him more deeply, she rolled her hips against his and let out a breathy moan. “ _ Draco _ …” 

He woke with a start, dragging his hands over his face to shake the sleep from his mind. He had come out here to stand watch, and sleeping on the job would hardly calm his nerves. 

Hours later, when the soft blue light of dawn began to illuminate the corridor, Draco stood at last and stretched. It had taken much of the night, but his thoughts had finally stopped racing. He had a renewed sense of calm, but still didn’t want to be caught loitering outside Granger’s door like some mongrel. Stifling a yawn, Draco dragged his body back to his own room and fell on top of the blankets with an exhausted sigh.

* * *

“Draco?” 

The gentle voice roused him from a deep slumber that he hadn’t realized had taken over him. Sunlight was streaming through the curtains and Draco blinked against the intrusion. A gentle knock on his door made him lift his head as Granger spoke again. “Draco, are you alright? You missed breakfast.” 

With a groan, he pushed himself out of bed and pulled the door open. 

Granger’s eyes took him in, her mouth falling open in surprise. “Were you still asleep? It’s nearly noon.” 

Clearing his throat, Draco dragged his fingers through his hair. “Er… yes. I didn’t sleep well last night.” 

“Well I came up to work with you on your spells and physical therapy, but I can come back later if—”

“No, it’s fine,” Draco insisted, glancing over his shoulder at his disheveled bed and clothes from yesterday still in a pile on the floor. “Just give me a minute to get dressed.” 

“Of course.” Granger smiled. 

With a jerky nod and a moment of hesitation, Draco awkwardly closed the door in her face and turned to tidy up his room as quickly as he could. He pulled on some trousers and a jumper and carded his fingers through his hair to make it lie flat. When he opened the door again, Granger had hardly moved. She smiled as he stood back to let her in. 

“Why haven’t you been sleeping?” she asked, settling on the edge of his bed for the first time in weeks. “Do you think there’s a problem with your potions? Or—”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that.” Draco cut her off. He didn’t care to elaborate, but the last thing he wanted was her altering his potions again, now that he finally felt he was truly improving. Nightmares be damned. “The physical therapy first, yeah?” he asked, changing the subject. 

“Hmm? Oh, yes.” Granger watched as he performed his exercises with practiced precision. He had come a long way in his recovery and no longer had trouble with the increasingly challenging tasks she gave him. His physical dexterity had almost entirely returned. He was even beginning to regain his quiet footing around the house. 

“Very good,” Granger said as he finished his last exercise, though she didn’t look particularly pleased. But before he could ask her what was troubling her, she pressed ahead. “Ready for your spellwork?” 

“Sure.” Draco drew his wand. He could tell something was upsetting her, but he didn’t particularly mind if she wanted to forge on with business as usual. 

Granger had him working on advanced Transfiguration and defensive spells. When he disarmed her successfully, he felt powerful for the first time in months. If only for a moment, he felt invincible. The horrible, vulnerable feeling that had followed him since he’d been captured eased and he found himself regaining some semblance of control. Elated, he tossed her wand back to her with a grin. 

“You’re doing great,” Granger praised with a half smile. 

“So why do you look like someone’s just ripped a page out of your favorite book?” Draco asked, twirling his wand in his fingers and admiring their dexterity. 

Granger took a deep breath and raised her eyes to meet his. “Well, I do need to tell you something, actually.” 

Draco blinked, feeling suddenly nervous. “What is it?” 

“This—today, I mean, is our last session.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I  _ mean _ that you’re doing well enough that it’s time for me to release you from my care.” 

Draco blinked. “Are you sure? My spells have improved, sure, but they’re not back to where they were.” 

“No, but they will be soon. And with the level you’ve reached, you no longer need me supervising your practice every day. You are very capable now of continuing on your own.”

Draco shook his head. “What about my potions? I need—” 

“Physically you are almost entirely back to normal. Your stammer is nearly gone. It really only pops back up if you get particularly flustered. I’ll make sure you have the potions you need over the next week or so, but beyond that, I think it’s time for us to wean you off the potions.” 

He had known this was coming, of course. With each spell he performed successfully and each fine movement of his fingers and each sentence he spoke through without stammering, he had known this day was fast approaching. So why was he so shocked to hear her say that they didn’t need to have their daily meetings anymore? 

“Wow,” he murmured. “So this is it?” 

Granger nodded. “I’ll tell Kingsley that you can start being eased back into missions again. I would still advise that he not use you in dangerous situations yet, but I see no reason why you couldn’t go on a couple of low risk tasks.” 

Draco looked down at his wand. Was he ready to be in the field again? Granger seemed to think so, but he wasn’t so sure. If anything went wrong and he had to defend himself against Death Eaters he wasn’t confident in his ability to make it out alive. 

“I think the biggest thing you still need to work on is your stamina and your confidence,” Granger noted. “You’re capable of more than you think you are. You just need to remember to trust yourself and your instincts again.” 

She was right, of course. He couldn’t just stay hidden away in the safety of the Order properties forever. Eventually he would have to return to his missions. 

“I’ll make sure that you have a way to contact me in case you start to feel ill again or if you think you might need some potions.” 

“Wait, what?” Draco balked. “Are you leaving?” 

“Well, no. Not right away. I’m just preparing for the probability that we will be stationed at different safe houses very soon.” She stared at him for several seconds, her brows furrowed. “Are you alright with all this? I figured you would be ecstatic to learn that you wouldn’t have to see me every day.” 

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seems a bit soon is all.” 

Granger smirked at him and rose from the bed to stand before him. “It’s nearly April, Draco. I’ve been your full time healer for four months.” 

“Well, when you put it that way…” Draco laughed. He smiled at her, realizing how much he would miss just having an excuse to be alone with her every day. “Thank you for all the work you’ve done.” 

“It’s my job.” 

“I know that. But still… thank you.” 

Granger smiled broadly at him. “You’re welcome.” 

Draco didn’t know what to say. Ending their session today seemed so final, so definitive. It was absurd, really. It wasn’t as if he would never see her again. They were still living in the same house until one of them was reassigned. So why was he dreading watching her walk out of his room? 

She was looking up at him as if waiting for him to speak. Just an arm’s length away from him. 

Neither of them had spoken for nearly a minute now, and Draco could feel the room becoming increasingly awkward. 

“Well,” she said finally, breaking the silence. “I guess that’s it then.” 

“Yeah,” he said lamely. 

She stared at him for a few more seconds. What was she waiting for? 

“Right. Well, I’ll see you.” She took a jerky step back as her eyes dropped to the floor. Dragging one hand through her curls, she made a beeline for the door and left him alone in his bedroom. 

As soon as the door closed Draco released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. She made him entirely too nervous these days. It was ridiculous. Nothing was supposed to unnerve him. What had happened to the emotionless man that had joined the Order back in August? He was definitely getting soft. 

* * *

After only two more days at the Westenberg house, Draco was reassigned and sent to the Farley house, which he had never been stationed at before. Draco, much to his chagrin, would be staying there for the week with Charlie and Pansy. But as much as he wasn’t looking forward to being third wheel all week, at least he would be able to keep an eye on Pansy. 

Saying goodbye to Granger before they departed was one of the most painfully awkward moments of his life. For the first time in months, she would not be by his side as he travelled, and while he was pleased that she would be safely at headquarters for the week and away from Pansy, it felt odd to say goodbye to her. She rambled on about his potions for several minutes, promising that he should have enough for the week, but that he need only contact her if he needed anything else. 

“Granger, I got it. I’ll be fine,” Draco promised, a bit amused by her obvious anxiety over his leaving. He was acutely aware of the fact that Pansy and Charlie were watching them closely from across the room. 

“Remember to do your exercises and keep up with your spell practice,” Granger directed. 

“I know, Granger. You don’t need to worry. You’re off duty, remember?” he said with a smirk. 

“Sorry. It’s hard to turn the healer part of me off,” Granger laughed, her cheeks flushing slightly. 

“I’ll be fine,” he repeated, hoisting his rucksack over his shoulder and backing away from her. “Have a good week.” 

Granger waved and then disappeared into the kitchen. Draco turned to Pansy and Charlie. 

“No kiss goodbye?” Pansy teased. 

“Piss off,” Draco grumbled. “Where’s the Portkey?” 

Charlie held up a small cracked mirror. “Thirty seconds,” he announced. 

Pansy and Draco both placed fingers on the mirror and soon they were being carried to the tiny house on the outskirts of Leeds. 

The Farley house was cramped and smelled quite musty. Draco opened his bedroom window first thing to try to air the room out as much as he could. The kitchen was tiny and opened up into the crowded living area. The couch was far too big to be in such a small space, but then again, Draco imagined that the Order had most likely not hired a professional decorator when furnishing the safe house. There were only three bedrooms here, which he supposed was why he had never been stationed here before. He typically stayed at the safe houses with larger groups. After getting settled in, he spent some time familiarizing himself with the house and grounds. 

As he walked through the garden, he heard Pansy’s giggle drift out from the kitchen window. She and Charlie were speaking in low tones, punctuated by conspiratorial laughter. 

Draco groaned inwardly. It was going to be a long week with those two. 

* * *

The first three days at the Farley house were fairly uneventful. True to his word, Draco continued his physical therapy exercises and devoted a large portion of his day to practicing his spells. He also did his best to keep an eye on Pansy, though he tried to avoid being around her and Charlie when they were being particularly nauseating. He did make an effort to spend some time with Pansy each day to be sure that she knew he was watching her and aware of her actions. 

He got a brief reprieve from them on the third night when Dean Thomas joined them at the Farley house. He and Draco stayed up late that evening sharing a bottle of elf-made wine that Granger had assured him wouldn’t interfere with his potions anymore. It was nice to have someone to talk to other than Pansy and Charlie, and Draco found that he truly enjoyed the Gryffindor’s company for the first time. 

Sadly, it was short lived, as Dean left after lunch the following afternoon to spend the remainder of the week with his parents in Essex. 

It was after dinner that evening when Charlie entered the living room after dinner. Pansy and Draco were both seated on opposite ends of the couch, ostensibly reading the texts in their hands, while awkwardly ignoring each other.

“Kingsley’s just asked me to come to headquarters. It should just be a few hours. Will you two be alright without me?” Charlie asked. 

“Is something the matter?” Pansy asked. 

Draco frowned. Whatever was calling Charlie away was most likely classified. Pansy’s feigned care was as transparent as glass as far as Draco was concerned. He wondered how much Charlie fell for her charms. 

“Nothing to worry about,” Charlie smiled kindly. “Just a little business to discuss.” 

He left through the front door, apparating away once he stepped beyond the wards. 

“So you and Charlie…” Draco prompted slowly. 

Pansy turned the page of her magazine without looking up. “I’ll tell you about me and Charlie when you tell me about you and Granger.” 

Draco frowned. “I don’t know how many times I need to say it, but there’s nothing to tell.” 

“Didn’t look like ‘nothing’ the other morning,” she said, quirking an eyebrow and lifting her eyes to him without lifting her head. 

“You mean when she was telling me about all the potions she’d brewed for me? Yes, that was a very romantic conversation,” he scoffed and then put on a dramatic voice. “Dear diary, today she gave me potions to keep my muscles from turning to mush. Surely we will be married by summer.” 

Pansy scoffed and turned her eyes back to her magazine. “All I know is that there was a time, not so very long ago, when you would have rather died than even  _ joke _ about marrying a Mudblood.” 

Draco flinched. 

“See?” Pansy exclaimed, closing her magazine and pointing at him. “You can’t even hear the word without looking like you’d like to hex me.”

“Come on, Pans. Do you really still believe in all that blood purity shit?” He had to know. Even if she lied, it was bound to tell him something of her intentions. 

Pansy just gave a noncommittal shrug. “You and I were raised with the knowledge that being a pureblood meant something. You don’t feel that way anymore?” 

Draco frowned. “Look at where that upbringing got us,” he said rolling up his sleeve and exposing his Dark Mark to someone else for the first time in months. “I turned my back on that.” 

“And it was just that easy to change your beliefs? To start befriending Mudbloods?” 

“Of course not. Granger and I fought like beaters and bludgers for months.”

“And now you’re…” Pansy trailed off with a smirk. 

“Nothing,” Draco finished for her with a frown. “But the point is, we’re no longer enemies.” 

“Well, I think Granger’s brilliant. Haven’t gotten to know her very well, but I’m hoping that will change soon.” 

Draco fell silent. Suspicion rose within him. What did she mean by that? Getting to know Granger? Perhaps she intended to discover her weaknesses… exploit them. 

“I’ll make an effort to let go of my prejudices,” Pansy said, seeming oblivious to Draco’s suspicions. “It seems like I might have to.” 

“You should,” Draco said. “Especially with so many Muggleborns in the Order.” 

“Well, yes, of course. But I was referring to the fact that you and Granger are obviously about to admit how madly in love with each other you are.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “I am  _ not _ madly in love with Granger.” 

“Alright,” Pansy laughed, holding up her hands in surrender. “But for what it’s worth, I think you two would actually be good together.”

Draco frowned. What was Pansy’s angle? Was it possible that she was being sincere? Her prejudices would imply that she wasn’t. Or did she merely want Draco to be distracted by a witch so that he would be less likely to notice her suspicious activities? 

“Okay, fine. Let’s talk about the fact that Charlie, despite all his…  _ admirable _ qualities, is still a  _ Weasley _ . Or had you forgotten?” 

Pansy grinned at him. “I like to think that Charlie got all the good qualities the Weasley family had to offer, leaving very little for any of his younger siblings.” 

“So you’re interested in him because...?” 

“Because he’s charming and strong with a sense of adventure. Why do you care anyways?” 

Draco arched an eyebrow skeptically. “And the fact that he’s your probational mentor has nothing to do with it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Draco shifted in his seat, refusing to answer. He didn’t dare show weakness by breaking eye contact. 

“Ah, I see,” Pansy hummed. “You think I’m using him to gain favor in the Order.” 

Draco just shrugged. 

“Well, I’d be lying if I said that didn’t cross my mind. He’s very popular. I’m sure you’ve noticed. When I got here I knew that it would be in my best interest for Charlie to like me. I’ve used my charms for much less, as you know. But then—I don’t know—I guess I got to know him.”

The front door opened, making both of them jump. “Forgot something,” Charlie announced with a laugh. He looked at Pansy, whose cheeks were going a bit red. “Everything alright?” 

“Fine,” Pansy purred, flashing him a charming smile. 

Charlie grinned at her. “Alright. I just have to get a file for Kingsley,” he said before passing through the living area to go up the narrow stairs. Draco heard his footsteps walk back and forth a couple of times before he descended again. “See you,” he said jovially, flashing a wink to Pansy before leaving through the front door again. 

“Draco,” Pansy said once Charlie had passed beyond the wards again. “Charlie’s fun. He makes me laugh. And I don’t think it’s the end of the world for me to have a little fun in my life, do you?” 

Draco’s resolve flickered for a moment. He thought back to his pillow fight with Granger. He knew how it felt to seek fun just for fun’s sake. Perhaps he had judged Pansy too harshly. Still, there was that niggling feeling in the back of his mind that couldn’t allow him to trust her. His gut was telling him that there was something off about Pansy. If she wasn’t a spy, then it was something else. But what? 

Perhaps he could give her a chance. He would remain cautious, of course, but he didn’t see much harm in allowing their old friendship to grow again. 

Then something caught his eye. Something unusual. Through the window, something shifted… shadows moving quickly… and Draco’s willingness to give her a chance vanished. 

His blood ran cold as another shape moved past. Just beyond the wards, masked figures were darting between the trees. 

Draco jumped to his feet, his wand in his hand in an instant. “We’re under attack,” he announced evenly. 

“What?” Pansy’s eyes grew wide, her voice panicked. 

“Death Eaters. At least two. Just beyond the wards.” 

Pansy turned fearfully to the windows, her face going ashen. “What do we do?” 

Draco trained his wand on her, his voice dropping low with venom. “Did you bring them here?” 

Pansy rounded on him, panic evident on her delicate features. “Draco,  _ what do we do _ _?”_

Draco’s heart thudded in his chest. If she was panicked—truly panicked—then this attack wasn’t her doing. She hadn’t brought them here. He had been wrong. Pansy wasn’t a spy. 

His training kicked in and he immediately doused the lights. “Stay low,” he directed, ducking down behind the couch and beckoning for Pansy to join him. She sank to her knees next to him, her fearful eyes awaiting instruction. “We’ll have to fight our way out and get past the wards so we can apparate to headquarters. Stay close to me.” 

“Wait, I have to get my wand,” Pansy hissed before darting away up the stairs. 

The instant that she left Draco realized his grave mistake. “P-Pansy, no!” he shouted, but before he could chase after her, the front and back doors were blasted off their hinges, raining splintered wood all around him. Draco covered his face against the explosion before peeking around the side of the couch. 

Two Death Eaters were entering by wand light, one from each door. They moved quickly, casting light around the room. Quick as he could, Draco stood up and cast a stunning spell at the one coming from the kitchen door. The masked man crumpled to the floor, but his comrade was quicker and Draco had to duck out of the way of the killing curse sent his way. 

Pansy was on the stairs, wand in hand. But her wand would not work for her; Draco had seen to that weeks ago when he had set the wards. Whatever happened next, Draco would have to do it on his own. 

Pansy crept down out of sight of the Death Eater. Pressed against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, she squared herself up for attack. Draco waved at her from behind the couch, shaking his head furiously. She caught his eye and nodded in response. She jumped from the last stair, brandishing her wand and yelling, “ _ Stupefy! _ ” 

No jet of red light burst forth from the wand. Nothing happened at all, and nothing would. Draco watched her eyes travel from her wand and out into the fray ahead of her as if in a daze, her eyes wide with confusion and fear. 

Draco jumped to his feet in a feeble attempt to distract the approaching Death Eater. He aimed his wand and fired a stunning spell, but he couldn’t stop his hand from trembling and it missed, hitting the wall just above the hooded figure’s head. 

He cursed internally, panic blooming in his mind. He had told Granger that he wasn’t ready. 

Heart pounding, he glanced back at Pansy as the Death Eater stumbled back. He had to protect her. Her wand—it wasn’t going to work—and if he didn’t get over there—

A flash of green. 

Pansy crumpled to the floor.

Chest constricting painfully, Draco cried, “ _ Confringo! _ ” The flames enveloped the man’s mask and he stumbled backwards, hands clawing at his face. The mask fell away. 

_ Mulciber.  _

Vision red, jaw clenched, Draco’s grip tightened on his wand. He aimed, the killing curse dancing across his tongue like an old friend. 

The spell died nearly the moment it was cast, deflected easily. 

He had to make a run for it. As much as he didn’t want to leave Pansy’s body behind, what choice did he have? 

Firing spell after spell at the Death Eater, he backed towards the kitchen door. If he could just make it beyond the wards, he could apparate away. He stepped over the stunned Death Eater as Mulciber advanced. 

Pain erupted in Draco’s left arm. A severing hex? Hot blood seeped quickly through his shirt. He stumbled sideways into the door frame and staggered down the back stairs and into the garden. Mulciber was gaining on him. 

He fired spells over his shoulder. Anything he thought might slow his opponent down. But he was weak. His hands shook and his tongue tripped over each spell. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears, punctuated by his frantic heartbeat. The pain in his arm was blinding, but he was nearly to the wards. Just a few more steps and he would be safe. 

A flash of green missed him so narrowly that he felt the heat of it on the side of his face. His heart pounded in his chest as he passed through the wards. 

Thinking of his destination and hoping desperately that he didn’t splinch himself in his panic, he apparated away. 

London was quiet. Peaceful. An owl hooted in the park behind Draco as he staggered across the street. Headquarters stood before him, strong and safe. Draco heard his blood dripping on the front steps before he pounded his fist against the door. 

Several seconds passed, feeling like an eternity for Draco as he swayed where he stood. At long last, the door opened and Granger stood there, a broad grin quickly dying on her face at the sight of him. 

“Draco!” she cried as he stumbled into her, his legs giving out beneath him. “Harry!” she shouted, wrapping her arms around him to support his fall. 

“HARRY!” she cried again, her voice near panic. She dropped to her knees, cradling his bleeding body against her. 

The Boy Who Lived came running, wand at the ready. “What is it? What’s happened?” 

“The Farley house was attacked,” Draco gasped. 

Granger pulled her wand and began setting to work on his injured arm. 

A small crowd was gathering, their eyes wide with fear at the knowledge that one of their safe houses had been compromised. 

“How?” 

“How many Death Eaters?” 

“How did they find you?”

Their questions washed over him, but he had no answers to give. He felt numb… helpless. Charlie came to stand before him, his face ashen as he asked. “Where’s Pansy?” 

The pain in his arm was lessened thanks to Granger’s quick spell work, but there was a deeper pain settling in his chest, one which he knew would be much more difficult to heal. He swallowed, dreading telling Charlie that he had failed. Failed to read Pansy correctly. Failed to trust her when it had counted most. Failed to keep her safe. He took a deep breath, willing the guilt to lessen, but knowing that it never would. 

“Pansy’s dead.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Monday.   
> Next chapter posts June 1st. 
> 
> Leave me a comment if you're so inclined!   
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/graceful-lioness) to interact with me more.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments after the last chapter. They bring me so much joy! 
> 
> AlphaBet love to BiscuitsforPotter and DisenchantedGlow!

Before he could rest, Draco was required to give a full account of the evening’s events to Potter. Draco let the words flow from him freely, his voice distant, as though someone else were speaking. He told the Auror about spotting the Death Eaters outside the safe house, about Pansy running for her wand just before they gained access from the front and back doors. He told about the duel that followed, and about Pansy’s death, though he skipped that bit about her wand not working for her. Mulciber got the best of her. That was all. Aside from that detail, he left nothing else unsaid. Granger sat next to him, anxiously biting her fingernails and listening in rapt terror. 

When Draco’s report had been given, Potter began assembling a team to go to the Farley house. Draco knew what they would find there: Pansy’s body, the wreckage of a battle, and nothing more. Certainly Mulciber would have revived his comrade and fled by now. There would be no Death Eaters there for Potter to apprehend. 

With no role left for him to play, Granger helped Draco up the stairs and into bed. She was talking to him. Something about this not being his fault. He wished that he could tell her just how wrong she was. It was _all_ his fault. Pansy was dead because of him and nothing she said could assuage his guilt. 

She tried to offer him a Dreamless Sleep Potion, but he refused. He knew he wouldn’t sleep without it, but the thought of getting a decent night’s rest after what had happened caused his stomach to roil with grief. 

“Please, Draco,” she insisted as he kicked off his boots and flopped onto the bed. “You need to rest.” 

Draco rolled away from her, wanting nothing more than for her to leave. “No.” 

“If you would just—” 

“Leave me alone, Granger,” he droned, his chest feeling tight. 

“But—” 

“Get. Out.” 

It was silent for a moment, and he could practically hear her inner conflict. Finally he heard the sound of her retreating footsteps and the click of the bedroom door, and he was left alone with his regret.   
  


* * *

  
  
It came in waves, the guilt and grief crushing him, drowning him, before ebbing slightly, giving way to a horrible numbness. He wasn’t sure which was worse. 

There was a time when he had been able to trust his instincts above all else. And yet he had been wrong about Pansy. Catastrophically, irrevocably wrong. She never was a spy, he knew that now. Whatever suspicions he had had about her were unfounded. If she had been acting strangely, it was likely due to her desire to be accepted in the Order. Draco would never know for sure, and it was all his fault. 

She had been his friend once. More than his friend, truly. A trusted confidant, a comforting ally, a lover. 

And he had killed her. Killed her as if he had put his wand to her himself. If not for his actions, Pansy would be alive. They would have joked about their close call. She would have teased him about having to save his sorry arse. She and Charlie might have had a future. 

But she was gone. 

Granger returned in the morning. She sat on the edge of the bed and placed her hand on his shoulder. He didn’t turn over. 

She asked if he had slept. 

He hadn’t. 

She asked if he wanted to eat anything. 

He didn’t. 

She asked if there was anything she could do to help. 

There wasn’t. 

When he didn’t answer her, she left. 

Potter came a few minutes later, needing to ask Draco more questions about the attack. 

Draco shared what he remembered and answered Potter’s questions carefully, knowing that sharing too much about Pansy’s death would cause suspicion to fall upon him. 

“There’s a team at the Farley house now. We recovered Pansy’s remains last night. The team today will pick up the last of the documents as well as everyone’s personal effects. I’ll have your belongings brought up when they arrive,” Potter said evenly. He was there as an Auror, of course, not as a friend. 

Draco had no friends here. The closest thing he’d had to one was dead because of him. 

* * *

That evening, Granger brought his personal belongings up to his room. When she came in, he could hear urgent conversations happening downstairs. She closed the door gently and approached him, setting his rucksack next to the bed. 

“Are you sure you don’t want a Dreamless Sleep Potion?” she offered. 

Draco glanced over at her. She was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she stared at him. He wished she would leave him alone. She should stay far away from him. He was dangerous. Even when he was trying to protect her, death befell the Order. 

“I’m sure,” he clipped. 

Her brow furrowed. “Please, Draco—” 

“Merlin’s beard, Granger. Will you leave me alone if I take the fucking potion?” he snapped, bringing his hands up to press into his eyes. 

“Yes,” she replied, her voice a bit colder than it had been a moment ago. “But you have to actually—” 

“Fine,” he bit out. 

Granger left and returned several minutes later with a full tray of food. She set it on the bedside table. “I’ll give you the potion and leave you alone after you eat something,” she announced, sitting on the edge of his bed near his legs. 

A low groan rumbled through Draco’s chest. “You’re a real pain in the arse. Did you know that?” 

“Yes, I’ve been told,” Granger droned. “Eat.” 

Cursing under his breath, Draco pushed himself to sit up and dragged the tray onto his lap. He forced himself to eat a small roll, a few bites of roast chicken, and several spoonfuls of rice. Granger sat patiently while he choked it down. It was all tasteless, and sat in his stomach like lead on top of his crushing guilt. When he knew he could eat no more he pushed the tray away. 

“Happy?” he sneered. 

She held out the potion for him and he snatched it away from her, hoping that she would leave before making him take it. 

After several seconds of her staring at him, he let out a resigned sigh and drank the potion. 

She nodded and stood, picking the tray up with her. “We’re holding a funeral for Pansy tomorrow afternoon. I thought you’d like to know. I think it would be a good time for you to end your self-imposed exile.” 

With that, she turned and left him alone, dousing the lights as she went. 

Draco couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do less than to go to Pansy’s funeral. To have to stand with all the people who had accepted her and know that he had betrayed her... He couldn’t imagine anything worse. 

But he didn’t have time to imagine much else. Dreamless Sleep was effective and fast-acting, and a fuzziness had already begun to creep into the edges of his brain. The last thought that crossed his mind before everything faded away was that a good night’s rest was the last thing he deserved. 

* * *

The next day, Draco locked his door to avoid Granger from bothering him anymore. He could hear people arriving in the early afternoon from the various other safe houses. There was a growing hum downstairs as the crowd gathered. 

Unsurprisingly and all too soon, someone was knocking at his door. “Draco,” Granger called. “Can I come in?” 

Draco glared at the door. When exactly had she started calling him ‘Draco’ anyway? Like they were friends. Like she trusted him. Like he wasn’t a soulless monster...

The door knob rattled. “Draco,” she said, dropping her voice. “The funeral is about to begin.” 

He wasn’t going. He had decided this morning. 

“Draco—” She sounded so disappointed. 

Someone called her name from far away and he heard a muffled conversation. A moment later, the door knob rattled again. A pause, and her footsteps departed. 

The sound downstairs diminished as everyone made their way into the back garden. Draco pushed himself to stand and shuffled to the window. He could see everyone gathered on the lawn. A grave had been dug near the stone wall surrounded by well tended flowers. The dark wooden casket sat by the grave, its top open to reveal Pansy. She was small and pale in death, her useless wand placed under her hands against her heart. They’d dressed her in stylish navy robes—the last ones she’d ever wear. 

He could see everyone, dressed in black and faces drawn in grief as Kingsley began his speech. Draco couldn’t hear what was being said, and he didn’t want to. 

From her place next to Potter, Granger looked up at his window, her eyes locking with his. Her frown deepened before she turned away from him, wiping a tear away from her cheek. 

Heart clenching, Draco turned from the window and flopped back down onto the bed face down. 

* * *

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing Draco knew, his door was swinging open. He opened his eyes to see Granger pocketing her wand and helping herself inside. She closed the door with a frown and rounded on him. “Sorry,” she murmured as she approached the bed. “I _did_ knock.” 

Irritation swirled within Draco like a maelstrom. “My lack of response should have been a clear indication that I didn’t want to be disturbed.” 

“Everyone is worried about you,” Granger noted, placing her wand back in her pocket. 

“Color me touched.” 

“You can’t stay locked up in here forever.” 

“You’re not my healer anymore, Granger. Which means you don’t get to order me about.” 

She paused briefly before replying. “I’m not here as your healer. I’m here as your friend.” 

Draco turned his head, eyes roving over her. Her concern was painted all over her face. To his memory, he had never seen her so dressed up, with the exception of the Yule Ball, of course. Her black dress was simple, but elegant, its full skirt falling to her knees. Her black heels clicked against the wooden floors as she shifted her weight. She had even put on a bit of makeup. If he had been in a different mind set, he might have thought she looked rather pretty, even with her red-rimmed eyes and downturned lips. It seemed like quite a lot of effort to put forth for a dead woman’s benefit. 

_People grieve in mysterious ways,_ thought Draco. 

“Pansy was part of the Order,” Granger said sternly when he didn’t reply. “And beyond that, she was one of your friends. I don’t know what happened to you two over the years to make you fall out, but you were close once. She deserved to have you at her funeral. It doesn’t do either of you any good for you to sit up in your room moping while the rest of us are trying to figure out why this happened. You were there. We could use you. But instead we’re having to piece things together from your report. Sulking won’t bring her back.” 

“I am not sulking,” Draco grumbled. 

“Could have fooled me.” She leveled him with a stern glare. 

Draco grimaced. Couldn’t she just leave him in peace? 

Granger sighed, pulling her hair over her shoulder and twirling it nervously in her hands. “Listen, I know you’re grieving. I don’t want to push too hard. But I just think you could channel your grief more productively. You’re not the only one in the Order who lost someone. We can all help each other through this.” 

Without another word, she turned and left him again. 

* * *

Granger had not bullied him into taking another sleeping potion, and so Draco found himself wide awake at nearly three in the morning. Granger’s words kept swirling around inside his head, tenacious and refusing to let him rest. Loathe as he was to admit it, she was right. Pansy deserved better. 

The house was quiet as he ventured out of his room and down the stairs. He didn’t pass anyone else on his way to the garden. There, Pansy’s grave was in a fresh mound of loose earth surrounded by white daisies. He knelt down before her headstone, the ground cool and damp beneath his knees. 

“Hi, Pansy,” he intoned miserably, feeling unbelievably stupid. “I know you can’t hear me. I know you’re not there… or here… or _anywhere_.” 

His throat felt tight and he swallowed painfully. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.” 

The knot of guilt in his gut coiled tighter. 

“I know it doesn’t make a difference and nothing ever will… but I’m sorry, Pans. I should have been there for you today. But beyond that, I should have trusted you. I should have protected you.” 

He felt his eyes begin to sting and his jaw grow tight. But it wasn’t until his voice broke that the tears came. 

“I know you can’t grant me forgiveness.” Tears slipped down his cheeks and he sniffed. “Even if you could, I wouldn’t ask for it. I don’t deserve it. I just—I’m sorry.” 

The well of words inside of him had dried up. After the apology, what else was there to say? What else _could_ he say? She was dead, and nothing was going to change that. 

Knowing he was alone in the garden with no one to witness him, he let himself cry freely. Tears dripped down his chin and onto the freshly turned earth. When was the last time he had cried like this? Truly cried? 

The thought only brought more tears. 

Moonlight shone down on him, illuminating his grief in hues of silver and blue. And when his tears finally abated, that grief began to feel less like a rock dragging him down to the depths of the sea. 

Draco knew that apologizing at Pansy’s grave and weeping for her loss wouldn’t absolve him of his sins, but for the first time in days, he felt truly awake and aware. Of course, the numbness hadn’t gone completely. And while the pain in his soul was still crippling, he finally felt the beginnings of what it might be like to be whole again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Monday  
> Next chapter posts on June 8th
> 
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	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE!  
> It's Draco's birthday, and I figured I'd give you all a gift and drop a surprise extra chapter this week! I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> AlphaBet love to BiscuitsforPotter and DisenchantedGlow

In the days that followed Pansy’s funeral, Draco made an effort to venture out into the common areas of headquarters more often. Each time, however, he noticed that the warm and accepting atmosphere toward him had gone somewhat… cold. Several Order members had returned to scowling at him as he passed. Some offered him feeble smiles, but skirted around him as if afraid he might explode. At meal times, people made polite small talk near him, but Draco noticed that they rarely made an effort to include him in the conversation. 

“They’re afraid of you,” Granger explained on Saturday evening as they sat together in the sitting room.

“Afraid of me?” Draco scoffed. “Why?” 

Granger shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. “There have been rumors—rumors I’ve made every attempt to squash, mind you—that you may have had something to do with the Death Eater attack.”

“What?” Draco balked, his fingers digging into the arms of the chair in which he sat. “They think I’m a spy?” 

Granger cleared her throat, averting her eyes. “Apparently.” 

“Based on what evidence? The fact that I almost died a few months ago? Or the fact that they nearly took my arm off earlier this week?” 

She bit the inside of her cheek nervously. “People are just trying to make sense of the fact that our safehouse was compromised. If Pansy had been the spy they wouldn’t have killed her, and you were the only other one there.” 

“That’s ridiculous! I—You know I’m not—I wouldn’t—”  
  


 _“I know,”_ Granger said earnestly. “No one with any real power in the Order suspects you, if it makes you feel better. Kingsley and Harry both know that you’re loyal.” 

Draco flopped against the back of the chair with a sigh. “I don’t know how to prove to people that I didn’t betray the safe house. One would think that the fact that the Death Eaters seem especially keen on murdering me would be proof enough.” 

“One would think,” Granger droned with a thoughtful tilt of her head. “Just keep doing the right things. It’ll blow over.” 

Sleep eluded him that night. Between his nightmares of Pansy and anxious thoughts of Order members suspecting him as a spy, he tossed and turned for hours before giving up and heading downstairs for a drink. He assumed that no one would be there to glare at him at nearly four in the morning, but he hadn’t expected to find Charlie Weasley sitting in the dark drinking firewhiskey straight from the bottle. 

The ginger man looked up when Draco turned on the light and entered. He looked terrible. His red hair was greasy and disheveled and his face was frightfully pale save for the dark purple circles under his eyes. 

Draco must have looked frightful as well, because Charlie summoned a glass and poured some whiskey into it for him without even speaking before bringing the bottle back to his lips. 

Draco sat down and took a healthy swig, letting the burning liquor numb his troubled mind. He wondered how much Charlie had had to drink. _Enough_ , by the looks of it. Perhaps he should take the bottle away from him. 

“Can’t sleep?” Charlie’s voice was low and gravelly. His eyes were somewhat unfocused on the table before him, and he was swaying slightly in his chair. 

“No,” Draco clipped, finishing his glass and holding it out for a refill. Charlie obliged, the whiskey sloshing onto the table slightly as he poured it with shaking hands. 

“Haven’t slept in days,” Draco confessed. 

“Neither have I.” Charlie set the bottle down and rested his head in his hands, fingers gripping his hair hard. 

Silence stretched between them, heavy and dark. Draco drank, and Charlie rocked in his chair. 

After a moment, Draco became aware of Charlie’s shoulders shaking. He let out a sniffle and wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. 

“I didn’t know you and Pansy had gotten so close,” Draco mumbled, feeling slightly confused by the outpouring of emotion from the man across from him. 

“It’s my fault. Should have been there for her. To protect her,” Charlie choked miserably. 

“It’s not your fault.” 

Charlie pounded his fist on the table. The bottle of firewhiskey shook precariously. “She was my charge. It was my responsibility to keep her safe.” 

“I was _there,_ Charlie. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I’m the one who…” he cut himself off. He couldn’t tell Charlie that he’d tampered with Pansy’s wand. “I should have been quicker. It’s _my_ fault, Charlie. You weren’t there.” 

“Exactly,” Charlie snarled. “I should have been.” 

“You were meeting with Shacklebolt. It’s not your fault.” 

Draco didn’t know what to say to Charlie to help assuage his guilt. In truth, if he’d been there, Pansy may indeed still be alive. They would have outnumbered the Death Eaters and would have stood a much better chance of stunning them both before Pansy had even tried to use her wand. But despite that fact, it still wasn’t Charlie’s fault. He hadn’t been the one to leave Pansy unprotected. He hadn’t been the one whose shaking hands and fumbling tongue had failed to perform the necessary spells when it had mattered most. 

Charlie pushed himself back from the table and stood up, tripping over his chair and stumbling into the wall with a curse. After righting himself, he snatched the bottle off the table and staggered out of the kitchen mumbling incoherently. 

Draco finished his drink and then charmed the glass clean and returned it to the cupboard. He made his way back to his room and laid on his bed staring at the ceiling. How was it possible that Charlie seemed as filled with guilt as Draco felt? From where Draco stood, no one could possibly be more to blame than he was, except perhaps Mulciber. 

But then he recalled an argument he’d had with Granger when she’d been his probationary mentor. She’d been concerned for his safety. She’d distinctly said that if he wanted to get himself killed, he should wait until she was no longer responsible for him. Perhaps the feelings of responsibility of the mentor really were that strong. Perhaps Charlie felt that anything that had happened to Pansy during that time, good or bad, reflected directly upon him. 

His stomach twisted in guilt. He liked Charlie very much. To see him so torn up about losing Pansy was just another twist to the thorn in Draco’s heart. 

* * *

During a meeting the next day, Draco fidgeted in his seat. He hadn’t felt so unwelcome since his first day with the Order. Several people eyed him warily. Finnegan sneered at him as he walked in and took his seat next to Dean. Charlie seemed teetering somewhere between grief and anger. He tightly gripped the arms of his chair one moment, and the next roughly carded his fingers through his hair. Granger sat directly in front of him, perhaps in an effort to show her trust. Ginny and Cho sat on either side of him, trying to engage him in loud small talk as people entered the room and took their seats. Draco could tell that this was all an act for his benefit, but he was still grateful for the gesture, no matter how contrived. 

“Settle down, everyone,” Kingsley said as he swept into the room and took his place at the head of the table. 

A hush fell over the room as everyone turned their eyes to the Minister and the many files in his hands. 

“Many of you have been briefed about the recent attack on the Farley house. Just know that at this time we are not suspecting foul play from anyone within the organization. The investigation is ongoing, of course. How they may have found the safe house is unknown right now, but rest assured that we are examining all possibilities,” Shacklebolt announced, his tone serious. 

There were a few whispers from the crowd. 

“Sir,” Bill piped up. “Is it possible that other safe houses have been compromised as well?” 

“At this time, it doesn’t seem so. Of course we cannot guarantee that they haven’t been, but there is no evidence right now to suggest that they have,” replied Kingsley. 

The wary glances from the crowd divulged that they were not reassured. 

“That being said,” continued Shacklebolt. “We will be implementing new security measures on all safe houses. This includes strengthening the wards and monitoring travel in and out. These new security measures will go into effect this week, and you will all be briefed on any necessary measures that you will need to take as individuals.” 

This seemed to calm the group considerably, as everyone had now relaxed into their chairs a bit more. 

“Now, we have received some chatter from an anonymous source about a potential Death Eater safe house. It is rumored that several high ranking members in their organization may be stationed there including…” he opened one of the folders before him. “Travers, Rodolphus Lestrange, and Mulciber.” 

A shiver ran up Draco’s spine at the mention of the name. _Mulciber._ Blood pounded in his ears. What he wouldn’t give to get his hands on the man who had murdered Pansy. He sat up straighter, hoping that Shacklebolt was going to share more information about the alleged safe house. 

“I would like to plan a raid for early tomorrow morning, if possible.”

Draco flexed his fingers around the arms of his chair. He prayed to any deity who may have ever existed for Shacklebolt to assign him to the task. 

“If Potter, Chang, Jordan, Thomas, Dawlish, Bill, and George could all stick around. I’d like for you all to be on this team.” 

His heart sank to his toes, his dreams of vengeance for Pansy rapidly diminishing. 

“The rest of you are dismissed. We will meet again tomorrow evening to discuss our new security measures. Thank you.” 

Most of the Order stood from their seats and began moving toward the exits. Draco sat still, debating asking Shacklebolt if he could join the raid team. 

Granger paused on her way to the exit and turned back with an expectant look. Something about her knowing eyes compelled him to stand up and follow. 

“He would never let you,” she said softly as they made their way into the living room. “You’re too close to the situation.” 

He knew she was right, but it still didn’t stop him from glancing back at the dining room doors wistfully before they closed behind him. Mulciber would be captured alive and taken to Azkaban. The Order saw it as justice, but to Draco, it seemed like failure.

If he could just figure out where the Death Eater safe house was… if he were allowed on the team, perhaps he could…

_No_. 

If he were on the team, killing Mulciber would be off the table. He would have to do everything by the book, obey Shacklebolt’s rules, and bring the bastard in alive so that he could stand trial for his crimes. 

Draco wouldn’t be able to do it. He knew himself too well. If Mulciber stood before him, there wasn’t a power on Earth that would stop Draco from ending his life. He clenched his fists, his fingertips digging into the fabric of his trousers. 

As much as he hated to admit it, Shacklebolt had made the right call by not putting him on the team. 

The pit in his stomach growing exponentially, he excused himself and trudged back upstairs, isolating himself in his room once more. 

* * *

Draco was sure he was going to wear a hole in the floor. He hadn't stopped pacing back and forth in his room in the several long hours since he was dismissed from the Order meeting. 

The numbness that had taken hold of him after Pansy's death had gone, and in its place, rage and bloodlust. 

He had never been one to enjoy killing. Though it had once been his job, that's all it had ever been. He had never taken pleasure at the idea of taking someone's life. 

But now? The very thought of Mulciber dead—and being the one to make it happen—that definitely brought him pleasure.

Imagining the alternative—imagining Order members kicking down some doors and taking him into custody, after which he would live out his days in Azkaban—it filled Draco with a potent rage such as he had never felt before. 

This was madness. 

It was insanity. 

He tried to Occlude... tried to think of something else. Any other solution. It was the reason he had been pacing for so long. 

Draco wanted to talk himself out of this stupid idea. It could be his downfall. If he was discovered, there would be no turning back. 

But the thought of Mulciber meeting his end at Draco's own wand... it was too enticing to ignore. 

Shacklebolt be damned. 

The whole Order be damned. 

His mind was set. 

At just after two in the morning, Draco disillusioned himself in his room. Despite the rage that still coursed freely through his veins, his assassin's instincts hadn't left him. He was able to make his way down the stairs and past some late-night stragglers toward the office without anyone noticing.

Sneaking inside locked rooms was a skill he hadn’t forgotten. Within ten minutes, he had gained access to Shacklebolt’s office and the files inside without raising any alarm. He spent another ten minutes looking over the detailed folders about the Death Eater safe house, memorizing everything he could, before replacing the paperwork exactly as he had found it and leaving again. He replaced the wards and locks so that no one would ever know that he had been there. 

Keeping himself disillusioned, he made his way to the front door. The house was dark and completely still, but he still checked for guards on his way out. He encountered no one, and once he had closed the door behind him and stepped off the porch, he apparated to Yorkshire, his mind singularly focused on one thing: Revenge. 

* * *

The Death Eaters were getting very lax with their wards. It took Draco even less time to gain access to this property than the safe house in Surrey. As he slipped into the wards, his mind jumped ahead to his next steps. The killing curse he had tried at the Farley house after Pansy had been killed had not worked. If he tried to cast it again now, it might fail. 

Draco paused. Was he still too weak for this task? 

He faltered. Perhaps this had been a mistake. 

_No._

He knew he could do it. He _had_ to do it. He could feel rage coursing through his veins. His wand vibrated in his hand with fury waiting to be unleashed. 

They had tried to murder him twice.

They had killed Pansy in cold blood, and had targeted Granger. 

They deserved to die. To be wiped from this earth, leaving nothing but the pain they’d caused behind. 

Granger had been right: he just needed to trust his instincts. He’d been too panicked at the Farley house, but now, he was calm. He was focused. He knew what he could do and how to do it. 

_“Homenum Revelio Charta,”_ he murmured, watching the miniature rendering of the safe house burst from his wand. There were six blue dots representing people on the premises: himself, and five others. He couldn’t tell which one was Mulciber, but Draco knew he wasn’t going to be discriminatory. Every Death Eater inside would meet the same fate. They had all done wrong. It would be difficult, but not impossible. He could handle five.

He was still disillusioned, but he was careful to stay low as he approached the house. It was dark on the ground level, but he checked his map spell again before entering through the front door. There were two Death Eaters in the kitchen. He would have to be quick and quiet. 

The front door gave way with a simple unlocking spell. A charm to quiet the hinges was next, and then he slipped inside and padded silently through the foyer on the way to the kitchen. He moved quickly past the stairs and stopped just short of the arched opening. 

“I still can’t believe Mulciber couldn’t finish off the traitor scum while he was there,” a deep male voice was saying. Travers, by the sound of it. 

“‘Ow the ‘ell did Malfoy survive anyway? I saw what that potion did to ‘im. There was no doubt in my mind when we left ‘im there that ‘e was dead,” replied the other one. Rowle? Draco couldn’t be sure about that one. 

“Who cares how he survived? The potion works. Well enough to kill some muggles, anyway. We’ll get him soon. It’s just a shame he couldn’t go out with his traitorous whore girlfriend.” 

Draco burst through the opening, the killing curse erupting from his wand with power that had him staggering back. Travers never even saw it coming. He slumped forward against the table as Rowle threw himself back, tripping over his chair in an effort to escape the invisible threat. The man drew his wand with a shout just before Draco’s second killing curse ripped the life from him. 

As Rowle crumpled to the floor, Draco darted back down the corridor and into the living room. The Death Eaters upstairs would have certainly heard Rowle’s shout and would come to investigate. From the living room, Draco saw a dark figure dart down the stairs, wand drawn on his way to the kitchen. In a flash of green, the man dropped to the floor. 

There was more movement from the upper level, and Draco could hear hurried footsteps making their way down the corridors. His blood was pumping through his veins, every sense that had been lying dormant within him was now fully awake. He had never enjoyed his time as an assassin, but with the promise of revenge so close, he found himself thankful for his training. Surely Dolohov would never have guessed that he would be providing Draco with the skills necessary to pick off members of his own team one by one. 

Someone else was running down the stairs. “Mulciber!” the man shouted to someone on the second floor.

It would be his last word, for in the next instant, he was engulfed in Draco’s blaze of green and fell to the floor with a final thump. 

This was it. A thrill ran through Draco. It was just him and Mulciber now. And he wanted the man who killed Pansy to know who had bested him in the end. 

With a wave of his wand, Draco lifted the Disillusionment Charm and waited for Mulciber to come to his friend’s aid. 

It seemed that Mulciber was smarter than his compatriots. He didn’t rush down the stairs with reckless abandon, but took his time instead. Draco could hear the floorboards creaking above. It was possible that he was sending a distress call to other Death Eaters, asking for backup. It didn’t matter. By the time anyone arrived to help him, he would be dead, and Draco would be long gone. 

So he waited. He had time. 

Mulciber began creeping down the stairs. When the third stair creaked, the Death Eater paused. 

But it made no difference to Draco. He was already moving silently to a closer location. At the foot of the stairs, just out of sight, he waited. 

He could hear Mulciber’s ragged breath as he tiptoed down the last few stairs. 

_So clumsy._

As soon as Mulciber stepped onto the main floor, Draco acted immediately, and the Death Eater’s wand flew from his hand, landing in Draco’s open palm. 

Mulciber turned, eyes wide as they landed on Draco. He backed up, frantically glancing around for help that would not come. Draco gained on him, power coursing through his body like a tiger preparing to pounce. Disarmed and vulnerable, Mulciber raised his hands as if begging for mercy.

The killing curse ripped through Draco’s body and out of the end of his wand, enveloping Mulciber who then landed in a limp heap on the floor. 

It was done.

Draco took a deep breath, the weight of revenge lifting from his shoulders. Disillusioning himself again, he turned to leave.

And then he saw something that made him pause. 

The third Death Eater, the first one to come downstairs to help the others—Draco hadn’t seen his face when he’d fired the curse, but now his victim laid in the dim light from the kitchen. His face bathed in light, Draco’s blood ran cold. 

_No._

It was William Hammond, looking so young and innocent in death. The last time Draco had seen the boy, they had joked about Quidditch. William had wanted more than anything to go to the next Quidditch World Cup, to see the greats fly together with his own eyes. But he would never see it. His eyes were open, unseeing and glassy, still portraying the fear and shock he had felt in his last seconds. 

Something within Draco fell away and he dropped to his knees. Of all the people to get caught in the crossfire, this was something he couldn’t stomach. _William_ … he had been one of the good ones. A decent kid who hadn’t been so very different from Draco really. A victim of circumstance, just doing his best to survive in this nightmare of a world. 

_And Draco had murdered him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter posts Monday, June 8th. 
> 
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	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! I hope you didn't miss the surprise chapter I dropped on Friday! Before you read this one, just make sure you read 14 first! 
> 
> As always, AlphaBet love to BiscuitsforPotter and DisenchantedGlow!

Headquarters was as quiet and still as he’d left it when Draco crept through the front door and removed his gloves. There was a heavy, dreadful, newfound darkness that had nestled itself in his heart. The closer he crept to his bedroom—down the hall, up the stairs—the heavier and more dreadful that darkness became. It was assaulting him from the inside out with one, singular image: William’s face, forever frozen in its final moment, fearful, cold, dead…

By the time he reached the top step, the darkness threatened to overwhelm him. His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch and he hurried to the nearest washroom to retch into the toilet. As his stomach emptied, Draco wished he could flush away his guilt with the sick. 

Trembling from vomiting and tears brimming his eyes, he made his way out of the loo and towards his bedroom. 

“Draco?” 

He grimaced. _Of fucking course…_

Bracing himself on the door frame, he turned. Granger had opened the door to her room and was blinking at him with tired eyes. She looked so vulnerable in her thin cotton pajamas. Vulnerable, but warm. It took everything he had not to take her into his arms and weep. Could her warmth chase away the cold that was settling in his soul? 

“Are you alright?” 

_No, Granger, I’m not._

His soul felt splintered—flayed open, revealing his blackened heart. 

“Go back to bed, Granger,” he replied softly. 

Her honey eyes travelled over him, taking in his cloak, his boots, his wand in his hand. 

“What are you—?” 

“Go to sleep, Granger,” he growled, shutting his eyes against her concerned gaze. 

He turned away and slipped inside his room, ignoring her stare from across the hall as he closed the door. 

The moment the heavy wood clicked shut behind him, Draco turned to cast locking and silencing charms. Then, without ceremony, he kicked off his boots and shed his clothes, climbing into bed stark naked. Looking up at the ceiling, he let himself weep. For William Hammond, for Pansy, and for himself. 

* * *

Against all odds, Draco slept, and slept well. He supposed that, despite the guilt he felt, killing five people in one night was bound to be exhausting enough to overcome any emotional turmoil. Or perhaps the several restless nights he’d had since Pansy’s death had finally caught up with him. 

When he woke up, the house was alive. Early morning sunlight was peeking through his curtains, illuminating the room in a nauseatingly cheerful glow. His silencing charm had worn off during the night and he could hear the animated chatter of an organization about to arrest a house full of fugitives. 

He spent the better part of the day mentally preparing himself for arrest and imprisonment. As soon as the Order discovered the carnage at the Death Eater safe house he was sure to be arrested, especially once Granger shared with Potter or Shacklebolt what she had seen the night before. Shacklebolt knew what Draco had been with the Death Eaters. Surely the Minister would easily guess how five men had been murdered on the eve of a planned Order raid. 

Shacklebolt had been kind enough to grant him immunity for his crimes, but that deal only extended to crimes Draco had committed as a Death Eater. His misdeeds now were sure to land him in Azkaban. He found himself pacing anxiously around the room for the better part of the morning. In a brief moment of insanity, he considered going to Shacklebolt and confessing. Perhaps that would be better than being found out. He could claim it was a crime of passion. He’d been so blinded by rage that he hadn’t even known what he’d been doing. 

No. Shacklebolt would never believe that. Draco had had a clear and focused mind when he’d attacked the Death Eaters. He’d been filled with rage, yes, but always fully aware of his actions. Turning himself in was certainly _not_ the right thing to do. His best chance now was hoping that Shacklebolt would take pity on him—or even better, that he wouldn’t figure it out at all. 

He Occluded for two hours before the meeting. He knew that if anyone were to see him in that moment or—Merlin forbid—ask him about the attack, his panic and grief would give him away immediately. Still, despite his best efforts to modulate his emotions, he felt his heart racing without control as he dressed. 

The atmosphere did not seem so very different from what it had been yesterday. There was some fear, yes, as people were still not convinced that their own safe houses could be trusted. Angelina Johnson and Ginny were speaking in low voices, heads close together. Draco heard Angelina mention that she was supposed to be stationed at the Longbottom house next week, but no longer felt safe there. Other people seemed to have similar concerns. Molly Weasley was asking George to talk to Shacklebolt to ask him if he’d let George stay at headquarters for the week. But with so many Order members without permanent residences, headquarters simply did not have enough beds to accommodate everyone. 

But though there was fear, there was excitement as well, as people waited to hear the news about how the morning’s raid had gone. Draco noticed that the people who had been on the raid team seemed a bit perplexed, but overall relaxed. No one was looking at Draco with suspicion… at least no more than they had yesterday. 

“I’m sure you’re all hoping to hear how this morning’s raid went,” Shacklebolt said as he settled at the head of the table. There was a murmur of assent through the crowd. “When the team arrived, the house appeared to be empty. We thought it might have been a dead lead, but then…” he trailed off, his eyes flickering over the crowd and settling on Draco for a heart stopping second. 

Shacklebolt looked away, gazing out over the Order with a grave expression. “In fact there _were_ five Death Eaters inside. All of them dead. Murdered.” 

A confused murmur rippled around the crowd. 

“Good riddance.” 

“Serves them right.” 

“How were they killed?” 

“Who do you think could have killed them?” Charlie asked, his voice raised to be heard above the others, his tone dark and vengeful. It seemed to Draco, based on his tense posture and anger, that Charlie would have liked to have done it himself.

Draco wiped his brow, hoping he didn’t look as guilty as he felt. 

“We don’t know exactly how this happened, but our best guess is that there is dissension among the Death Eaters,” Shacklebolt said. 

Draco blinked. They thought the Death Eaters had been killed by other Death Eaters. It didn’t seem like they knew Draco had done it at all. The tight coil of anxiety in his stomach loosened slightly. He had to focus very hard on not letting out a sigh of relief. 

Shacklebolt was still speaking. “All five were killed by the Killing Curse. Most of them had their wands drawn or were disarmed, and there was some evidence of a struggle. Perhaps these five did something to anger Dolohov and his trusted officers. We can’t be sure. But if they are fighting amongst themselves, it may be a good sign for us.” 

“Maybe one Death Eater just went rogue,” Lee Jordan mused. 

Kingsley’s shoulder twitched up in a sort of shrug. “Based on the number of them, I’m guessing a small team of their fellow Death Eaters. It seems like too big of a job for one or two.”

Draco blinked, trying desperately to keep his face neutral. He could barely believe his luck. It seemed, at least for now, that he was not suspected. He glanced at Granger. She betrayed nothing, watching Shacklebolt with rapt attention as he relayed this news. 

“At any rate,” Kingsley continued. “There are five fewer Death Eaters in the world for us to worry about. The team was able to recover a few documents from the safe house which will be analyzed. Hopefully the information will be beneficial for us.” 

An owl feather could have bowled him over with the sudden realization that he was _not_ about to be arrested. Draco sat very still, as if worried that calling any attention to himself would cause suspicion to befall him. 

Without flourish or pause, Shacklebolt moved on to the next item of business: filling everyone in on the new security measures which would be implemented at the safe houses. They would be doubling up on wards. There would be one layer where they always had been, increased in strength, and then another fifty metres further out, with alerts for the ranking Order member on duty of anyone passing through those wards. Draco did his best to pay attention, but he was having a hard time focusing. He was far too relieved to know that he would not be going to Azkaban today. 

When the meeting was over, Draco slipped into the kitchen for some much-needed food. Molly Weasley set out a platter of sandwiches for everyone before kissing her children on their freckled cheeks and departing back to her home. He then made his way back upstairs. Despite the lack of suspicion on his part, he preferred the idea of eating in his room for now. He wasn’t quite ready to talk to anyone yet. 

As he sank onto his bed and took a first bite of his roast beef sandwich, he breathed in deeply through his nose, savoring the feeling of being free despite all reason. 

* * *

Like a trained dog, Granger had become horribly predictable. A few hours after the meeting, she knocked on his door, letting herself in before he had the chance to answer. It was all Draco could do to watch her enter silently, her face set in stone, before casting a silencing charm on the room. 

His heart quickened as she turned to look at him, her shoulders tense and her jaw set. Whatever Granger was there to say, she was making sure that they wouldn’t be overheard. 

She remained silent as she crossed his room and sank down on the bed near his feet. Draco waited for her to speak first, not daring to assume that he knew the reason for her sudden intrusion. 

A deep, rattling breath, and honey eyes met slate. “Kingsley underestimates you.” 

_Clever witch._ He wondered if she would have figured it out even if she had not caught him returning last night. 

He said nothing, so she pressed on. 

“What the hell is wrong with you? Even looking beyond the _obvious_ moral issues of killing five people in cold blood, do you have any idea what would happen to you if Kingsley found out? You’d be on your way to Azkaban right now.”

He knew that, of course. He didn’t need the reminder.

“Did you act alone?” 

He didn’t answer. 

“I only ask because listening to Charlie at that meeting, you’d think…” she trailed off.

Her brows furrowed slightly as her eyes met his again. 

“Say something,” she hissed. 

“What would you like me to say, Granger?” His voice came out as nothing more than the ghost of a whisper.

Her mouth opened briefly before snapping closed. Perhaps she’d been hoping that he would deny it. That he couldn’t possibly have done the awful things she suspected of him. She dropped her gaze to her hands. 

“Would you like for me to confirm to you what a monster I am? How dangerous I am? Just how much I’m capable of?” 

She looked up sharply at him, and he could see how curious she was. He knew that insatiable look. She’d worn it for years in the classes they’d shared. Granger already knew some of his story. Some, but not all. Far from all. It was as though she couldn’t stop herself from wanting to know everything, no matter how unpleasant the answers might be. 

Draco felt on edge. His heart was beating fast and his palms had become clammy. Half of him longed to deny it all, to reach out to her for comfort, to pull her into him as he had dreamed of doing so many times. To show her how good he was. To lose himself in her touch. 

But the stronger half of him knew what was right. He didn’t deserve her. Just looking at her and how fucking… _decent_ she was. He knew he could never be a man worthy of a witch like her. So good and so caring. Her utter trust in him was unfounded. Unfounded and unwise. 

He wasn’t worthy of her trust. He wasn’t worthy of _anything_ she had to offer him. Perhaps what he really needed to do was to show her exactly who he was… _what_ he was. Maybe if he did that, she could finally stop looking at him like he was someone worth saving. 

“ _I_ did it.” There was ice laced through each syllable. “And I did it alone. Just me. Charlie had nothing to do with it.” 

He took a deep breath, pressing on despite the twisting in his chest. He couldn’t stop now. He felt compelled to tell her everything. “There were five of them. I knew that going in. I snuck into Shacklebolt’s office to look at the files and find the location. From there it was simple. I just had to break into the wards. It’s something of a specialty of mine, actually. I’ve never encountered wards I couldn’t break into.” 

He watched Granger closely as he spoke, looking for some sort of reaction. When she didn’t move, the twisting in his chest grew tighter, pushing him to near hysterics. “Does it scare you to know that? All this talk of strengthening the safe house wards, and I bet there isn’t a single one that I couldn’t break into within an hour.”

Granger still didn’t react—didn’t show fear. If anything, she just looked sadder by the minute. He had to push harder. Tell her more. Maybe then he could scare her away.

“The first man never even saw it coming. The second barely had time to scream. The third…” he paused, his throat tight. _William._ “The third was just doing his job to protect the others. By the time the fourth was up against me I knew that Mulciber was last. It’s how I wanted it. I didn’t duel with any of them. I never gave them the chance. They might as well have been dead before I even entered the house.” 

Granger’s eyes were glistening with tears now, but she still clearly wasn’t afraid. She hadn’t recoiled. In fact, she reached out one hand and placed it gently on his leg. 

He jerked away from her touch and she drew back, jaw trembling slightly. Angry now, his hands shot out, grabbing her arms and shaking her. Her eyes went wide and her lips parted in surprise. 

“Don’t you get it? I’m a _monster_ , Granger. My soul is damaged… fractured, from all the people I’ve murdered in cold blood. You said I was heartless once. Well, you were right.” He grabbed one of her hands and placed it over his heart. “There’s nothing here,” he spat. “There never was. I—” 

“Shut up.” Her voice was no more than a hiss.

Granger’s fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt and she closed her eyes, as if trying to concentrate. When she finally spoke, her voice was strained with emotion. “The simple fact that you are so affected by Pansy’s death proves that you _do_ have a heart. You call yourself a monster, but all I see is someone in tremendous pain. You’ve made mistakes, yes. But that doesn’t mean you are beyond redemption.” 

“And what would Shacklebolt say about my mistakes? Or Potter? Who will help redeem this wretched murderer?” Draco snarled, fingers digging into her upper arms. 

Her hand slid up his chest and neck, gently coming to rest on the side of his cheek. “Draco, I—” she breathed, her words dying in her throat as her thumb ran gently along his cheekbone. 

_Merlin_ , how he wanted to lean into that hand—how he wanted to lean into whatever happened next. His heart was bursting from her touch. His cheek felt warm under her hand and he longed to pull her in. 

Granger’s bottom lip was trembling slightly, her eyes glistening with tears. Draco knew that given the chance, he could steady her trembling lips against his own, make her forget her tears in his kiss. 

But no. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t even consider kissing Granger when he could still see Pansy’s limp form in his mind’s eye. William’s shocked, wide, dead eyes. 

With tremendous effort, he pulled away from Granger, releasing her as if she were on fire. She flinched with the loss, hurt crossing her face for the first time that evening. Her cheeks flushed and she turned away from him. After a moment, she stood from the bed and walked toward the door. 

“You should talk to someone,” she said softly without turning back. “It doesn’t have to be me. But you should find someone you can open up to about all this. It’s killing you to keep it inside, and I can hardly bear to hear the way you think about yourself.” 

She continued to the door, placing her hand on the knob before pausing once more. “I won’t tell Kingsley, you know. As always, your secrets are safe with me.” Then she left Draco alone again, the events of the past week swirling through his mind like a dizzying cyclone. 

* * *

Several days passed, and it did seem like Draco had truly gotten away with murder. Aside from Granger, no one in the Order seemed to think it was possible that he was involved in the Death Eater's safe house slaughter. 

The worst repercussions of his actions were coming from within. He had barely slept in days, the little sleep he _did_ get was often plagued by ghastly images of Pansy and William staring back at him with dead, unseeing eyes. 

Despite his desire to stay as far away from Granger as possible, he did find himself wishing he had someone to talk to about everything. After racking his brain for some time, he came to the unfortunate realization that she was his only option. The few other Order members that knew what he was capable of were very unlikely to be forgiving if he opened up about his recent actions. 

For the first time, he found himself sneaking into _her_ room in the middle of the night instead of the other way around. Her room hadn’t been warded since he’d returned to headquarters, and for once he was glad. As he crept across the hall and into her room, he thought about how accustomed he was to sneaking around. Thankfully this time, he had much less nefarious intent. He silenced the room and by the light of his wand, approached her bed. 

“Granger,” he whispered urgently. 

She stirred, her brows furrowing against his light before she startled into consciousness. Reeling back with a gasp, her hand flew to her wand, brandishing it before her. As her eyes focused on him, she dropped her arm with a sigh. “Draco, you scared me.” She set her wand on the bedside table and pushed herself to sit up. “What is it?” 

Draco lit her lamp with a wave of his wand and walked to the other side of the bed. He climbed on top of the covers next to her and leaned back against the headboard. “I barely sleep anymore,” he said, staring out into the semi-dark room. “I see them every night, all the men I’ve killed. I can see every face, hear every scream.” 

Granger was staring at him, her lips parted. “How many—? Nevermind. I don’t think I want to know.” 

“Thirteen,” Draco told her before he could lose his nerve. “Not including the five last week. And I can’t count Pansy. As much as I’m responsible, I’m not the one who cast the curse.” 

He paused, thinking miserably of his life and misdeeds. Granger, for her part, sat silently and let him talk. He could feel her eyes on him, but didn’t dare look back at her. She didn’t ask him why he felt so responsible for Pansy’s death, and for that, Draco was extremely grateful. As much as he wanted to push Granger away from him, he didn’t think he could bear to see the look on her face when she learned that particular detail. 

“Although if we’re counting deaths I’m responsible for, I suppose we would have to count her.” He cleared his throat. “Dumbledore too.” 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Granger wipe at her cheeks with the back of her hand. 

“It all started because I had to keep my family safe. They were captives as much as I was. And once my father was in Azkaban, I had to do even more to keep my mother safe. Someone had to go, and it was the people on Dolohov’s list or her.” 

Draco swallowed. He hadn’t talked about his mother to anyone since he’d left. No one had asked, and he had been perfectly willing to ignore the subject. But it was all coming out now, and somehow, thankfully, he knew that Granger would not use the information against him. 

“I cried after my first kill,” he admitted. “It was a Ministry man. Not much older than we are. I don’t remember his name, but I’ll never forget his face. I don’t know what he did to make Dolohov want him dead; I never asked. He wouldn’t have told me even if I had. Eventually it became easier to think of my targets, not as people, but as names in a file and nothing more. I became sort of numb to it after my third kill, but I never enjoyed it—” His throat restricted thinking of the thrill he had felt while killing the Death Eaters. 

“Well,” he amended, dropping his gaze to his hands. “I never enjoyed killing anyone who didn’t deserve it.” 

He thought of William, his stomach twisting painfully. 

“What happened to her?” Granger asked quietly. 

“Hmm?” 

“Your mother.” 

Draco took a deep breath. “She left. She’s safe.” 

“Where is she?” 

He shook his head. “I don’t know. And it’s better that way.” 

They sat in silence for a moment. Draco’s heart ached, but he felt a bit better having opened up about his mother to her. Perhaps Potter had been correct when he’d said that Granger was _always_ right.

She shifted next to him, and the next thing he knew, she was sliding her hand under his arm, her fingers lacing with his. His head snapped up, looking at her properly for the first time that night. Despite his confessions, the knowledge of everything he’d done, she hadn’t run away from him. On the contrary, she had drawn even closer and was actually holding his hand. 

He wanted to tell her about William, and perhaps one day he would, but right now he could barely breathe for the crushing guilt he felt. So he just sat with her, closing his fingers around her hand in return. 

“My parents are gone too,” she said quietly. She turned her face away from him, lifting her free hand to wipe away the tears that were falling. “I knew they would never leave me behind to go somewhere safe, and with everything that was going on, I—er—obliviated them. They’re in Australia, as far as I know. They don’t remember ever having a daughter.”

Draco’s heart thudded in his chest. “Why would you do that?” 

Granger sniffed. “I knew that Voldemort would try to use my parents to get to me and, by extension, Harry. I couldn’t put them in danger like that. I did what I had to do to keep them safe. After the war, I’ll try to find them and reverse the spell.” 

“And if it can’t be reversed?” Draco prompted. 

“Well then at least I’ll know they’re safe and happy. I don’t have any regrets about what I did, but I miss them every day.” 

Draco thought about Granger raising her wand to her own parents, erasing herself from their memories, not knowing if she would ever see them again. With a jolt, he recalled how emotional she had been that day at the Muggle department store, modifying the memories of the victims of the Death Eater attack. That must have been horrible for her to do, all the while thinking of her own Muggle parents. He squeezed her hand a bit tighter. 

Her head came down to rest against his shoulder and Draco nearly jumped. Turning his head, he saw her eyes closed, but he could tell she wasn’t sleeping. He doubted anyone could sleep after the conversation they’d had. She let out a sigh, letting her free hand curl around his bicep as she inched closer. Lips twitching upwards, Draco leaned his head to rest upon hers, her unruly curls cushioning his cheek like a pillow. 

He knew it was selfish of him. He knew he should be doing everything he could to distance himself from her. But her warmth and acceptance was like a drug he’d never known could taste so sweet. If he could keep it, for however long she offered, he’d be a lucky man. And he knew he wasn’t strong enough to resist her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Monday  
> Next chapter posts: June 15th
> 
> Leave me a comment if you're so inclined! Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/graceful-lioness) to interact with me more.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I everyone! Thank you all so much for your comments. I have really been overwhelmed by the response so far and I really appreciate it. 
> 
> I have received a few comments about my pacing and chapter lengths. All I'll say is that the story is outlined in great detail, and although I may vary my chapter lengths, the cuts are placed in what I feel are the best spots for the story. I'm truly humbled and appreciate that you want to read more of my words each week, but I'm just trying to tell my story the best way I know how.   
> Thank you!
> 
> As always, AlphaBet love to BiscuitsforPotter and DisenchantedGlow

It took weeks for Draco to feel like himself again after Pansy’s death and the disastrous events that followed. He was plagued by horrific dreams of William and Pansy nearly every night, but whenever his demons got particularly aggressive, he had gotten into the habit of sneaking into Granger’s room. They would sit up and talk sometimes, airing their fears and dreams to the darkness. Other times they would just sit with each other in silence. 

Once, Draco woke from a particularly bad dream and rolled over to find that Granger had already come to visit him. She laid next to him on her side, her breathing deep and even in her slumber. His heartbeat slowed at the mere sight of her. Reaching out, he brushed an errant curl from her forehead, and then allowed himself to be lulled back to sleep by the sound of her even breathing. When he woke up again the next morning, Granger was gone. 

They were separated for a week at the end of April when Draco was stationed at Shell Cottage and Granger at the Longbottom house. 

Draco barely slept. 

The following week they were both at the Westenberg house, and Granger snuck into his room nearly every night. 

For all the intimacy of their new habit, they rarely touched. Occasionally she would hold his hand, or rest her head against his shoulder in the late night hours when the darkness encouraged the most brutal honesty from them, but nothing more. It was as if neither of them wanted to ruin the gentle comfort they had found in each other. 

As Draco began to feel more and more like himself, the others in the Order seemed to also return to a sense of normality where he was involved. Though some people still skirted around him suspiciously, most seemed to have forgotten their wariness and were treating him with civility again. People chatted with him at mealtimes and greeted him in hallways. It wasn’t anything overly friendly, but Draco was grateful for any amount of courtesy he was offered. 

As April faded into May, the weekly Order meeting brought word of a dark threat. 

“We have received news that the Death Eaters are preparing to unleash their deadly potion upon a population of Muggles,” announced Shacklebolt. 

In front of Draco, Granger’s shoulders tensed. “When?” she asked, her voice tight with concern. 

“We can’t be sure, but the threat is imminent. The chatter suggests that they have prepared large quantities of the potion in anticipation of an attack. We should make every effort to be prepared when it happens,” Kingsley responded, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. 

“The antidote still isn’t complete,” Granger announced. 

“Then that is your top priority.” 

“Sir,” Draco interjected. “If it would help, I could work with Granger on the antidote. My personal experience may provide some insight.” 

“Hermione, would Malfoy’s assistance be helpful?” 

Granger nodded. “I certainly think so.” 

“Very well. Feel free to fill him in on all of the information that you have. The faster we can develop the antidote and have a good stock of it, the better.” 

Granger turned in her chair, offering him an appreciative smile. The Minister forged ahead with the meeting, discussing the protocol should an attack occur. 

“Everyone here must make themselves proficient in the Bubble Head Charm. We cannot be sure that the potion isn’t also absorbed through the skin, so impervious charms on all clothing will be necessary. No exposed skin is allowed on the site of an attack of this nature. That means gloves, long sleeves, and trousers, the works. Is that understood?” 

Everyone in the room nodded their assent, some glancing to Draco as if remembering the attack he’d endured at the hands of this potion. Draco dropped his eyes, wishing to sink into his chair and disappear. He wondered how many people in this room had watched him succumb to the potion. 

After the meeting, Draco followed Granger into the office and they set to work. He knew many of the ingredients she had been using to treat him, but had very little knowledge of how she was developing the antidote. 

“The potion attacked your nerves, shutting down your body one system at a time,” Granger said, pulling files from a drawer and setting them on the table between them. “We know the science of what happened to you because of the memories we witnessed and also from trying to heal you afterwards. We had to go system by system, clearing your body of the potion and reversing the damage done to you. That’s why your recovery took so long. Every part of you had been shut off, in a manner of speaking. We had to turn it all back on.” 

Draco nodded. He recalled similar explanations from MacDougall in the days after he woke up. 

“I guess what would help me the most is hearing it from your perspective. I’ve never really asked because I know you didn’t remember much, and I didn’t want to hinder your psychological recovery by asking you to relive it,” she explained, tucking a curl behind her ear nervously. “Do you remember enough to explain it to me?” 

Draco approached the table, glancing at the files she had opened. One of these files had his name on it. It was overflowing with parchments and charts, all of which had little notes scribbled in the margins in her tidy handwriting. “I remember everything.” 

In the first few weeks of his recovery, the entire incident had returned to him, bit by bit, until there was no detail he couldn’t recall. He would often relive it in his nightmares and wake up gasping. 

Her eyes lifted to meet his, a hint of fear behind them. “Would it bother you to tell me?” 

“What do you need to know?” 

“Everything. What you saw, felt, smelled… anything.” 

Draco sat in one of the chairs and Granger followed suit. He closed his eyes, allowing his memory to travel back to the day he had nearly died. 

“The potion was black and shiny. Almost alive in the way it swirled against the glass. Like it wanted to get out and kill.” 

He could hear Granger scribbling notes as he spoke, so he continued. “When Yaxley broke the glass, the liquid spilled out, but it turned to vapor almost immediately. Maybe it reacted with the air, I’m not sure.” 

Taking a deep breath against the memory of the panic he had felt, he pressed on. “It was impossible not to breathe it in, and as soon as I did, I felt my lungs tighten. So I had to take quicker breaths.” 

“What did it smell like?” Granger asked. 

He opened his eyes. “Awful. Er—acidic. It burned my nose and throat when I breathed it in. It tasted a bit like...licorice… but sharper, stronger. And then the pain started. It hit me everywhere… like the cruciatus, only a bit more dull and longer lasting. I couldn’t get a breath deep enough. It felt like my lungs were collapsing.” 

Granger had stopped writing now and was staring at him in abject horror. 

“Then I guess my systems started shutting down, like you said. My muscles felt like they turned to mush. That’s when I collapsed. My eyes weren’t working right either. Everything got kind of blurry. Er—I threw up, and then everything went numb. It was better than the pain, but then I couldn’t breathe at all. After that, everything in my body just felt like… I don’t know… like it was slowing down.”

Granger was leaning forward on her elbows, heels of her hands pressed into her brow and fingers gripping her hair. 

“That’s all I remember,” he finished softly. 

She took a sharp breath in and lifted her head. He had expected to see tears in her eyes, but although there was deep sadness on her face, it seemed that she had cried all she could about his attack. She opened her mouth to speak, perhaps to offer some sentiment about how awful it must have been, but then it snapped shut again. Her eyes went wide and she looked back to her notes. “Did you say licorice?” 

“Yes. Why?” 

“Licorice taste could be a byproduct of bulbadox juice when it’s mixed with nightshade.” She flipped through her notes. “I hadn’t considered it before, but it would explain the rapid potency of the potion.” 

Rising to her feet, Granger crossed to a cupboard and opened it to reveal a huge stock of potions and ingredients. She checked the labels of several phials before pulling one from its shelf. 

“This could be the ingredient I’d been missing!” she exclaimed, eyes lighting up in triumph. “If I add essence of daisy root, it should negate the bulbadox effects and strengthen the antidote.” 

“There’s no way to test it without a sample of Yaxley’s potion,” Draco reminded her, standing to join her by the cabinet. 

“That’s true, but it’s a massive step in the right direction. As long as we get the formula close then we’ll have something to work with if Dolohov orders an attack. If the Order can get to the scene quickly, we should be able to save lives.” 

Her optimism was infectious. Draco didn’t know how it was possible for her to still believe so ardently that good would triumph over evil. Maybe all Gryffindors had a bit of that romantic view of the universe. The brave and true warriors of the world always won against evil doers. It was admirable, but of course Draco couldn’t share her belief. He had seen far too much evil for that. 

“Let’s get started,” Granger urged with a smile. She pulled a pewter cauldron from the cupboard and set it up on the table. After directing him to start a fire under it, she returned to the cabinet, grabbing several jars and phials of various ingredients. 

They worked for hours, until their brows were sweaty and Granger’s hair was so frizzy that she had to pull it back into a ponytail to keep it from blocking her vision. By the time their insatiable hunger forced them to stop for the evening, they felt confident that they had successfully brewed a prototype antidote. 

Optimism bubbled in Draco’s chest as they ate dinner in the kitchen that evening. It had been so long since he’d been trusted with an intellectual project that he forgot how invigorating it could be to solve a complicated puzzle. Granger had proven to be a satisfactory partner. So much, in fact, that he was starting to regret treating her so poorly in school. He had wasted too many potions projects working with Blaise, who had always been far more interested in letting Draco do all the work and flirting with Daphne Greengrass to be of much help. 

* * *

The next several days were spent at headquarters with Granger, locked inside the office and brewing as much antidote as they could. Without knowing when an attack might occur, or how many civilians might be affected, it was impossible to know how much they would need. They had brewed it to work retroactively, knowing that a preemptive antidote would do them no good against an attack on Muggles. Their only hope was to treat the infected as quickly as possible following their exposure. 

After a week of brewing, they still only had enough antidote for perhaps twenty people. Draco was beginning to feel a bit panicked about not having enough in the event of the attack they’d been told was inevitable. Granger brought up this concern to Shacklebolt, who assigned Angelina Johnson and Luna Lovegood to help. 

Despite both of the witches' competence with potion brewing, Granger seemed annoyed to have to teach them how to do it. She was constantly micromanaging the two newcomers, especially hovering over Lovegood’s shoulder. Draco couldn’t blame her. The batty blonde’s potions always came out flawless, but she had some unorthodox methods of getting there. For a rule-follower like Granger, it was extremely stressful to watch Lovegood improvise over the cauldron, particularly with the stakes being so high. 

The extra help paid off though, when after only three days they had brewed thirty more portions of the antidote. 

Sadly, that was all they had time for, as on the fourth of May, they received news of an attack on Muggle London. 

Headquarters dissolved into a frenzy as everyone prepared to respond. Draco changed clothes quickly, making sure that every inch of skin was covered and his clothes were protected by impervious charms. Downstairs, everyone cast their Bubble Head charms before departing for the attack site. Granger waited on him by the door, her head already encased in its protective shield. With a wave of his wand, his own head became surrounded by a bubble. 

She held out a small bag for him. It rattled with phials as he took it from her. They would have to act quickly to save as many Muggles as they could. With only fifty doses, Draco could only hope that the attack had not been in a heavily populated area. They both drew their wands and walked together from headquarters and down the stairs. 

Her hand found his, their fingers interlacing just before she pulled him in apparation to the site of the attack. 

* * *

Trafalgar Square was hardly recognizable when Draco and Granger arrived on site. Order members dueled with straggling Death Eaters. A few Muggles on the outskirts screamed and ran for cover. The worst of it was at the center of the square, where a thick, black smoke had settled over the ground. At least a hundred Muggles were coughing and choking, writhing on the pavement in obvious agony. 

Lovegood and Johnson were already administering antidotes, flitting this way and that in search of people to save. 

Every fibre of Draco urged him to run the other way, to protect himself and Granger by getting as far away from that smoke as possible. But Granger was already darting into the fray, her faith in her Bubble Head Charm unwavering as she moved to save the innocents. 

It seemed that the protective charms were working. The Order members seemed unaffected by the toxic fumes. Despite running directly through the most thickly concentrated areas, they did not succumb to the poison. 

Draco took a deep breath and forced himself forward. There were too many Muggles here. They would not have enough antidote to save them all. 

The straggling Death Eaters were retreating now. Their job was done. The Order Members then turned their focus to clearing the air of the choking vapor. As it evaporated, Draco could see more and more affected Muggles. Writhing and screaming, they called out for help, but only half of them would receive it. 

Granger moved among the victims quickly, administering the antidote with calculated swiftness. Kingsley swept through the chaos, shouting orders and doing what he could to help. As Granger knelt down next to a Muggle who had already lost consciousness, he placed his hand on her shoulder. “Leave him. He’s expectant.” 

Granger’s eyes widened in shock, turning back to the limp man. He was elderly. Perhaps seventy or so. Vomit covered his chin and blazer, his eyes already looked glassy and distant. 

“Let’s prioritize those we know can be saved,” the Minister ordered. 

Granger’s mouth fell open. Obviously she had never been in a wartime triage situation as a healer. She was unaccustomed to making the difficult decisions about who would get treatment. Closing her eyes, Granger nodded stiffly before turning away from the man to help a younger woman who was still writhing in agony. 

Draco moved forward, looking for the people who seemed most easily saved. He administered the antidote to a young woman and her husband, a middle aged mother and her teenaged son, and—most horribly—three small children, whose father was already too far gone. 

The sounds of panic and agony were all around him. Every time he looked up, it seemed that there were more people who needed their help. The Order did what they could to help, marking the victims with floating orbs of light signifying their needs. 

Green meant they had already been treated. 

Yellow meant they were waiting. 

Red meant they were an expectant casualty. 

Black…

Black meant dead. 

Granger, Johnson, and Lovegood darted between the yellow orbs, gradually turning them all to green. Draco joined them. He hoped to be able to circle back to some of the red orbs after the yellows had been treated. 

There just wasn't enough of the antidote. Granger ran out first, hurrying to Draco to see how many he had remaining. He gave her his last one, and she turned to see two yellow orbs. One over a boy of about twelve who was writhing in pain and the other over a small girl, no more than six, who was barely moving, eyes open and unseeing. 

Draco could see her internal panic. He knew what needed to be done, but refused to deprive her of the choice. The girl was too far gone. Granger should save the boy. 

After her moment of hesitation, Granger dropped to her knees beside the boy and administered the antidote. When she was done, she looked around desperately toward Johnson and Lovegood. But it seemed they had run out of potions as well. Meanwhile, red orbs were turning black at an alarming rate. 

Granger was trembling, still on her knees next to the boy. Her eyes darted around the square, as if looking for a miracle cure to the horrible destruction around them. With no more antidotes, she didn’t seem to know what to do. And really, what could be done? There was nothing left to do but monitor the treated and wait for the untreated to perish. 

Shacklebolt must have called for reinforcements of Healers. Draco recognized MacDougall, Humphreys, and Browning from his own treatment, as well as several others in St. Mungo’s robes and Bubble Head charms sweep onto the scene. The Minister briefed them of the situation and then released them to begin transportation and treatment of the afflicted. Aurors patrolled the perimeter of the scene, keeping Muggles back and looking out for suspicious activity. 

It would be a public relations nightmare for both wizards and muggles alike, Draco knew. How many Muggles had witnessed the attack? How would the media report on the event? A biological attack, like the one that had allegedly been unleashed in the Muggle department store all those months ago? Or perhaps something else—a terrorist attack? Would those treated be taken to St. Mungo’s to recover, or would they have to be taken to muggle hospitals to receive care? 

While Draco had a million questions, it seemed that Shacklebolt had none. He was striding through the square, delivering orders to Aurors, Order members, and Healers as if he had a plan for every possible problem that might arise. And maybe he did. 

MacDougall made his way over to them. “Mr. Malfoy,” he greeted, extending his hand for Draco to shake. “Good to see you doing so well.” 

Draco took his hand, grasping it firmly. “I wish I were seeing you under different circumstances.” 

“Indeed.” MacDougall frowned, glancing at the deceased Muggles around them. “The Minister said you administered an antidote to some.” 

Draco nodded. “We only had fifty, unfortunately. And they’re untested. There’s no way of being sure that it will be effective.” 

“We’ll do our best treating them,” MacDougall promised. With a flick of his wand, he levitated the boy Granger had treated onto a stretcher.

Next to Granger, the little girl’s orb turned black. Draco turned to her, expecting to see tears in her eyes, but Granger was just staring at the tiny body, her pupils blown wide, her expression unreadable. 

Kneeling down next to her, Draco placed his hand on her shoulder. “Come on, Granger,” he murmured gently. “There’s nothing you can do.” 

She closed her eyes tight and turned away from the little girl. Draco helped her to her feet and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s check in with Shacklebolt. We should get you back to headquarters.” 

Shaking her head adamantly, Granger opened her eyes. “No, I have to—I can’t leave yet.” She turned sharply away from him and walked to another Healer, immediately jumping in to help. 

Draco’s stomach twisted. If they’d just had a few more days, they could have saved more Muggles, perhaps even all of them. And now their supply was depleted. If the Death Eaters attacked again, there would be nothing they could do to stop it from killing dozens, or even hundreds more. 

Longbottom and George Weasley were helping to transport the dead, and Draco volunteered to help them. It was exhausting and depressing work, taking hours to move all of the fallen into the morgues of St. Mungo’s. When at last all of the sick had been moved into the hospital, and all of the dead were taken care of, Shacklebolt released the team. Draco looked around the square for Granger, but she was nowhere to be seen. He asked MacDougall if he had seen the witch, and the Healer could only guess that she was at St. Mungo’s helping the sick. 

“I’m on her watch duty,” said Bill. “I’d better go.” 

Draco thought about volunteering to go in Bill’s place, but he was no longer on Granger’s protective team, so it might be overstepping to relieve Bill of his duty now. 

He returned to headquarters and took a much needed shower. He Scourgified all of the clothes he’d been wearing at the scene of the attack before pulling on some comfortable trousers and a jumper. He then made his way downstairs and sat in the living room to wait for Granger to return. 

Other Order members filtered through, getting food and discussing the attack in low voices. Tensions ran high as people arrived through the floo or front door, reported in, and cleaned up. Some people trudged through the living room looking appropriately forlorn. Molly Weasley offered him a plate of roast chicken, but he didn’t feel hungry in the slightest. Spending the day watching people succumb to the potion that had nearly killed him had well and truly squashed his appetite. She set the plate on a small table next to him before leaving through the floo. 

Voices rose in the kitchen, stressed and clipped. Draco turned his head toward the argument. Dean and Seamus emerged from the kitchen. 

“Mate, what is going on with you?” Dean hissed, reaching out to grab hold of Seamus’ elbow. 

Seamus wrenched his arm from Dean’s grasp and wheeled around. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Is this about—?”

“I just didn’t need today as a reminder, alright? All this fucking shite on top of everything else.” Seamus turned, his eyes falling on Draco. He sneered. “What are  _ you  _ looking at?” 

Stomping a bit more than necessary, Seamus crossed the room and disappeared into the floo. 

Draco turned to Dean, arching a brow questioningly. Dean just shrugged and let out an exasperated groan before heading up the stairs. 

After an hour, Draco picked up the bread roll from the plate beside him and nibbled on it slowly. He still didn’t feel like eating, but perhaps forcing a bit of food down would make him forget how long Granger had been gone. 

It was well after midnight when she entered through the floo. Draco stood up instantly and moved to stand before her. “Did our antidote work?” he asked. 

Granger removed her Bubble Head Charm and took off her gloves with a sigh. “On most of them, yes.” She walked past him and up the stairs, seemingly uncaring that Draco was hot on her heels. “We lost six,” she said, her voice heavy with exhaustion. 

“Well, it’s better than all of them,” Draco considered, weighing the numbers in his head. 

Granger glanced over her shoulder at him, her expression unreadable, before she deftly turned away again. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” she said before disappearing into the loo and shutting the door. 

Draco knew that Granger was deeply affected by losing patients, by not being able to save people. He had seen it in Potter’s memory of the night he’d been found. But there was something much deeper about this. She seemed… guilty. 

What she had to be guilty about, Draco didn’t know. She had done everything she could have. Brewed potions night and day, administered them with great skill and care on the battlefield. None of this was her fault, and yet she was acting like she had killed those six Muggles. 

Though he was still mentally energized from the stressful day they’d had, Draco tried to calm his mind. He sat in his room, Occluding quietly for the better part of an hour before the click of his door opening caused him to open his eyes. 

Granger looked exhausted as she walked inside and closed the door. Her hair was still damp from her shower, and her light pink pajamas looked shockingly out of place next to her melancholy expression. She didn’t speak as she crossed the room and climbed onto the bed next to him, immediately resting her head against his shoulder and looping her arm around his. 

For several minutes, they were silent. Perhaps this was what she needed. Just to be with him and feel the warmth of another living person. Draco took a deep breath, inhaling the gentle scent of her shampoo. 

“You know,” she said, her voice cutting through the silence. “I used to think that people were generally good in the world. I’ve always known that there is great evil, of course. But I thought that mankind, as a whole, was good and decent.” 

She paused to take a shuddering breath. “I believe it less and less. After days like today… days like the day they sent that box of memories to the Order with what happened to you. Days like the day Pansy died. After days like this… I can’t make myself believe it anymore.” 

Draco’s heart twisted to hear her losing her faith in humanity. 

“I’m tired, Draco,” she sighed. “Tired of all the death. Tired of feeling like we’re making good progress only to have it slip away like sand through my fingers.”

Draco didn’t know what to say. Her belief in the good of people was not something he had ever known. For as long as he could remember, he had known that people were the scourge of the earth. Humans were evil in nature… at least the vast majority of them. It didn’t take much for most people to call upon the darkness within them. But that wasn’t a belief that he wished to spread around to those who were more optimistic. Granger was one of the good ones, and to hear her say that her faith was waning was heartbreaking. 

“How did you do it?” she breathed, breaking the silence after many minutes. 

“Do what?” he asked. 

“Decide who lives and who dies.” 

Draco’s stomach flipped unpleasantly. “What do you mean?”

Granger sat up, turning to face him and pulling her hair over her shoulder to twist it in her hands. There were tears in her eyes. “All those people today…” She sniffed. “So many of them died because we didn’t have enough antidotes. I just…” She trailed off. 

Though he wasn’t sure he entirely understood her question, Draco could tell she was upset about the decisions they’d had to make that day. “We gave the antidotes to the people we thought stood the best chance of benefiting from it,” he said. “You know that.” 

“Yes, I do. But it didn’t work on everyone we gave it to. And who’s to say that it wouldn’t have helped those people that we deemed too damaged already?” She countered, gesturing with her hands emphatically. 

“We had to prioritize, Granger. I know it was terrible, but that’s the way war is. We saved forty-four people today who would have otherwise died. That’s something to be proud of.” 

Granger squeezed her eyes shut. “I just—” She didn’t seem to be able to articulate what she was trying to ask. It was very unlike her, and Draco didn’t think he had ever seen her so flustered. “Please tell me how you decide who lives and who dies.” 

A horrible coldness seeped into Draco’s veins. She thought that what she had done today was tantamount to murder. In her eyes, she was no better than he was. 

Sitting up, Draco met her gaze with ferocity. “I want you to listen to me very carefully,” he said, reaching out and grabbing hold of one of her hands. “You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“But—”

  
  
“No,” he interrupted. “You did the best you could today. It was a horrible day and you have every right to be upset after what happened, but none of it was your fault.” 

She didn’t reply. 

“And I never got to  _ decide _ who lived and who died. Dolohov gave me a name, and I did as I was told. I had no choice in the matter.” 

“You chose with me,” she breathed. 

The air rushed from Draco’s lungs. “Yes, I suppose I did,” he said, his lips twitching up slightly. 

“You never did tell me why.” 

Draco glanced down at their clasped hands before returning his gaze to her eyes. “In truth, I don’t know why.” 

Her brow furrowed and her eyes dropped. 

“It was unfair of Dolohov to even ask me to target you. I’d never killed anyone I knew before. Never killed a woman before. But honestly, I was going to do it.” 

He swallowed, knowing that she was likely to hate him after all was said and done. Still, she hadn’t walked away from him yet. Every horrible thing he told her was met with grace and understanding. More grace and understanding than he deserved. 

“Everything leading up to the kill went perfectly. But then you turned around and looked at me.” The memory of her face on that day floated in his mind’s eye. “I was disillusioned, so I know you didn’t actually look at me, but I had to wait until your focus went elsewhere, or you might see the movement. But something made me hesitate just long enough for you to disapparate.” 

Granger was looking at him with wide, shining eyes. “What?” 

Draco thought back to that day in the alley. The way her eyes had looked right through him, intelligently trying to discover the source of her discomfort. The way the wind had caught her hair, sticking a strand to her lipstick.

“It was your eyes,” he answered. “Among other things.” His eyes flickered to her lips briefly. “You just seemed so... _ alive. _ ” 

Granger wiped away a tear and smiled at him as if he’d just said the most wonderful thing in the world. “You see?” she sighed. “There’s a heart in you after all.” 

She leaned in, and her lips landed on his cheek, just above the corner of his mouth. And as she pulled back, he knew she was right, for he could feel his heart nearly bursting in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Monday  
> Next chapter posts: June 22nd
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/graceful-lioness) to leave me asks and interact with me more! I'm hit or miss about responding to comments, but I always answer asks!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments! I really appreciate hearing what you think. 
> 
> AlphaBet love to BiscuitsForPotter and DisenchantedGlow for spending countless hours helping me with this story!

Something was certainly off within the Order. Even a month after Pansy’s death, the feeling of vulnerability still lingered in the minds of every Order member. Although Shacklebolt had stated outright that he did not suspect that there was a traitor in their midst, many of the members seemed to disagree. Clearly they had been compromised in one way or another. Either Shacklebolt was wrong and there was a spy, or their security wasn’t nearly as strong as they had once thought. 

Draco was still getting wary glances every now and then, but he wasn’t the only one. Everyone seemed to be hesitant to open up to _anyone_ outside of their small circle of close confidants. 

Draco noticed that Finnegan in particular seemed to keep to himself. With the exception of Dean, the man rarely spoke to anyone else. George Weasley also seemed withdrawn, choosing to only keep the company of Lee Jordan, Angelina Johnson, and his family members. 

Draco had Granger, of course, but also could turn to Ginny, Chang, or Potter for company if Granger was stationed elsewhere. Charlie was still friendly with him, but something had certainly shifted within him when Pansy had been killed. Whether he was heartbroken over the loss of his… whatever she was to him, or felt guilty about her dying while under his protective care, Charlie had withdrawn considerably in the past weeks. 

As May ended, some of the abroad teams came back to headquarters. Unfortunately for Draco, this meant the reappearance of Ronald Weasley. 

The redheaded menace walked into headquarters like a king returning from a victorious battle, arms held wide to receive embraces from his adoring fans. Draco grimaced from his chair in the sitting room as Ginny jumped up to greet her brother with a warm hug. 

Granger stood too, and Draco watched her movements carefully as she approached Weasley with a smile and wrapped her arms around his neck. He couldn’t help but notice—with some satisfaction—that she seemed slightly less enthusiastic than she had last time he'd seen them together. 

After the weekly Order meeting, Shacklebolt read out the list of safe house assignments for the week. He would be at the Westenberg house with Granger, Potter, Weasley, and Chang. At this announcement, Cho shot him a look of solidarity, and Draco could guess why. A week with the Golden Trio. Draco and Cho would surely be glad they had each other by the end of it. 

As they all departed for the safe house, Draco noticed that Granger seemed to make a point to put herself between Potter and Chang, rather than stand next to Draco or Weasley as the Portkey whisked them away. 

Draco got settled into his room, grateful for the number of bedrooms in the Westenberg house. With five bedrooms, there shouldn’t be any sharing of bedrooms—at least Draco _hoped_. 

“Who’s up for a game of Quidditch?” Cho asked after dinner. “It’s still light out. We could have a quick match before dusk.” 

Draco sneered, rubbing his side. “No, thanks. I haven’t forgotten how a game of doubles with Weasley ends for me.” 

“That was an accident,” Weasley scoffed. 

“Sure it was,” Draco droned, rolling his eyes. “Either way, I think I’ll wait to fly until you’re back in another country.” 

“Coward.” 

Draco looked up sharply. Weasley’s eyes were on him, dark and daring. Draco knew he shouldn’t allow himself to be goaded into playing just so he wasn’t seen as a coward, but dammit, he couldn’t give Weasley the satisfaction of thinking he was right. 

“Alright, fine,” Draco conceded. “But if you try anything like last time, you’ll be puking up slugs. And I’m sure you remember how that felt.” 

Weasley’s ears went red, much to Draco’s satisfaction. From the corner of his eye, Draco saw Granger roll her eyes and shake her head. 

“We could just put you two on the same team and force you to work together,” suggested Potter with a smirk. 

“I’d rather lose than play on the same team as the ferret,” Weasley grumbled. 

“Good,” Draco laughed. “Because Chang and I are going to wipe the floor with you two.” 

Cho was a fair flyer, and together, she and Draco made a good team. They communicated well and did an excellent job of sharing offensive and defensive duties. But Potter still had his Firebolt. Against him, Draco and Cho didn’t stand much of a chance on the splintered old brooms from the shed at Westenberg. 

Even with Weasley’s abysmal flying, Potter outscored them 60-20. 

“Good game, everyone,” said Potter as they made their way back into the kitchen. 

“Yeah,” Weasley laughed, clapping Potter on the shoulder. _“For us!”_

Draco scowled at Cho, who rolled her eyes, obviously just as annoyed by the ginger menace as he was. 

“Ron!” Granger chastised. 

“What?” Weasley laughed, ruffling her hair and walking past her into the living room. 

“Tactless son of a—” Cho muttered under her breath. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” Draco announced, needing a break from Weasley’s presence more than anything. 

That evening, Draco silenced his room. He hoped that Granger would not let Weasley into her room again as she had last time, but if she did, he didn’t want to know about it. 

He slept restlessly that night. Each time he woke up, his hopes had him glancing toward the door as if Granger might sneak into his room and lay down next to him. She never showed. It wasn’t so out of the ordinary, really. They frequently went several nights without seeking comfort in each other. He could only hope that she was getting a good night’s sleep… alone. 

* * *

Draco rose early the next day and tiptoed down the stairs just after seven. He put the kettle on the stove and set to work making some breakfast. 

“Good morning,” came a cheerful voice from behind him. He turned away from the eggs he was scrambling to see Granger shuffling in, freshly showered and fully clothed. 

Had she slept with Weasley last night? Draco couldn’t tell. She certainly seemed chipper, which was likely evidence—at least in Draco’s mind—that she _hadn’t_ had Weasley pawing at her all evening. But she’d already showered, so he couldn’t glean much evidence from the state of her hair. 

“Morning,” he returned lightly. “Cuppa?” 

“Please.” 

Draco retrieved the kettle and poured her some tea. She thanked him and then began setting the table for breakfast. 

“Thank you for cooking. This all looks amazing,” she smiled, peering around him to eye the eggs and bacon he’d made. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

“Sorry about Ron yesterday,” Granger said, sipping her tea.

Draco scowled. “It’s not your responsibility to excuse his actions, Granger.” 

“I know that. But I feel like I should at least explain.” 

“Alright,” Draco sighed, stirring the eggs in the pan. “I’m listening.” 

Granger leaned back against the counter next to him. She didn’t look at him, instead keeping her head slightly downcast. “He’s a bit… _different_ since Fred died. It hit him and George the hardest, I think. At least they seem the most changed by it. I know it’s not really an excuse. He’s just been so angry these past couple of years. I think he sees you as someone he can take it out on.” 

“Yesterday was nothing, Granger.” 

“I know, but he’s going to be here all week, and I just think it would be helpful if you… took the high road, as it were.” 

Draco scooped some eggs onto his plate and grabbed a couple of slices of bacon. Irritation bubbled within him. It seemed to him that Granger should have directed this little lecture to Weasley. Instead of excusing his actions, she should have called him out on them. Weasley didn’t deserve to have her stand up for him, and yet she did it all the same. Perhaps she _had_ slept with him. 

Pushing his ire down, he turned to face her. “I see,” he hummed. “So you want me to be the bigger man.” 

“If you don’t mind,” she smiled up at him. 

Draco’s eyebrow twitched up as a smirk took over his face. “I don’t think that will be a problem. There’s no doubt in my mind that I _am_ the bigger man.”

A faint blush spread over Granger’s cheeks and her eyes widened as he winked and turned away to sit at the table. 

“Alright, Hermione?” Potter greeted as he shuffled into the kitchen and made a beeline for the kettle. 

Granger shook her head quickly. “Yes, good morning, Harry. Draco made breakfast!” 

“Thanks, mate!” Potter poured himself a cuppa and then set to work preparing a plate for himself. 

Draco blinked, sure that Potter had never called him ‘mate’ before. It made him feel strange, to be so civil with his old school rival. Surprisingly, it did not make him want to vomit. In fact, he found himself rather enjoying breakfast with The Boy-Who-Lived and the Gryffindor Golden Girl. Perhaps all of this was an elaborate hallucination brought on by madness due to Dolohov’s Cruciatus Curse back in August. It would certainly explain a lot. 

Once Weasley joined them for breakfast, it became abundantly clear to Draco that Granger had spent all of the previous night alone. The ginger man was in a right foul mood. Surely if he had spent the night with Granger, he wouldn’t be acting like someone spat in his tea. 

Even beyond Weasley’s sour attitude, Draco could tell nothing had transpired by the way Granger avoided looking at the man. She kept her eyes down as she finished her eggs, only speaking when spoken to. She offered Weasley short, clipped replies and Draco wondered if they’d had a falling out. His earlier irritation with Granger melted away and his spirits boosted for the rest of the day. 

While it seemed clear that Granger was _not_ sleeping with Weasley, she also seemed to be keeping an unusual distance from Draco. He hadn’t seen so little of her since they’d been stationed at different safe houses. For such small quarters, he went shockingly long periods of time without seeing her. 

Draco couldn’t help but feel slightly insulted by her sudden coldness. A dark, possessive part of him longed to make some kind of gesture. Stake a claim on her for Weasley to see. But he knew that doing so now would only anger Granger. She would surely hate being treated like an object to be claimed. 

Yet a primal, masculine force within him growled every time he saw her talking to Weasley. 

This angry force hit him particularly hard when, after five days, Draco heard raised voices in Granger’s room as he walked down to dinner. He paused, listening closely. He could only hear specific words, but it was enough to paint a picture of the greater argument. 

_“Malfoy… Death Eater… fucking traitor… spy.”_

Based on these words, it wasn’t hard to glean what was being discussed. Draco could hear Granger’s angry voice reply, low and daring, her words muffled. 

“Unbelievable!” Weasley roared. 

Draco heard something low thud loudly against the wooden floor and he jumped, assuming the worst. Immediately conjuring images of Weasley raising a hand to Granger, Draco went into a protective mindset, he drew his wand and pushed the door open. 

Granger and Weasley stood several feet apart. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her brow furrowed angrilly. There was a toppled chair just behind Weasley, and Draco wondered if he’d thrown it down in a fit of rage. Seeing red, he snarled at the ginger man. “Get away from her.” 

“What are you doing here?” Weasley grimaced. “We’re having a conversation.” 

Draco seethed. “You’re done. Get out.”

“It’s fine, Draco. Really.” Granger’s voice was soft.

“Oh, it’s ‘ _Draco’_ now, is it?” Weasley sneered. “And since when do you need him to fight your battles for you?” 

“I’m not going to tell you again.” Draco gripped his wand tighter in his hand. 

Weasley’s eyes darted back and forth between Draco and Granger several times. “So this is how it is, then?” His face went a deep crimson as his jaw clenched. “Fine.” 

On his way to the door, Weasley paused next to Granger, speaking in a low voice. “I’m really disappointed in you, Hermione.” He brushed roughly past Draco and swept out of the room. 

“Are you alright?” Draco asked. 

Granger’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Yes, of course.” 

“He didn’t—?” Draco eyed the overturned chair and Granger followed his gaze. Her eyes went wide with realization. 

“Oh, no! Ron would never—he just tripped.” She let out a little laugh, but it seemed a little forced. 

He raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Really, Draco, I’m fine. Ron and I have always fought like cats and dogs. He has a temper, but he isn’t _violent_.” 

The tight coil of rage within Draco loosened slightly. 

“How much of our fight did you overhear?” Granger asked, her cheeks turning slightly pink. 

“Enough.” Draco shrugged.

“Oh…” 

“It’s okay, Granger. I don’t care that he thinks I’m a traitor.” He pocketed his wand. “Everyone else seems to.” 

Granger tilted her head in confusion. “He wasn’t calling _you_ a traitor.”

“He wasn’t?” 

She shook her head. “He was calling me one.” 

* * *

At the end of the week, Weasley left to go back to his assignments abroad and Draco and Granger were separated. Draco would be spending the week at headquarters, and Granger—well, he didn’t know where Granger would be. In an effort to keep members safe. The Order had begun moving people to and from safe houses at unpredictable hours. The master list of safe house assignments was kept locked in Shacklebolt’s office. On the morning after the weekly meeting, Draco had woken up to discover that Granger and her housemates had moved some time during the night. 

That week, Draco spent most of his time during the day brewing more antidote in the office with Lovegood. It seemed that the only time the girl wasn’t talking incessantly was when she was brewing potions. The two worked together in near silence. 

Often in these hours, he’d find his mind drifting back to Granger. He wanted to brew as much antidote as possible to avoid a repeat of the last attack recovery. Seeing Granger so defeated was not something he wished to relive. 

“Would you like a charm to take care of those wrackspurts?” 

Draco looked up from his bubbling potion. Lovegood was staring at him with her pale eyes. “What?” 

“Your brain’s gone all fuzzy,” she said dreamily, tilting her head to the side. “Were you thinking about _her_ again?” 

Draco cleared his throat, deftly returning his attention to his cauldron. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“It’s okay. Her brain goes fuzzy when you’re around too.” 

He looked up sharply. Lovegood was stirring her potion absently, five circles clockwise, two counterclockwise. She seemed so oblivious to everything. How was it possible for her to have noticed something he kept so heavily guarded? And Granger… had Lovegood noticed something similar in her as well? 

Turning back to his potion, Draco tried desperately to quell the fluttering in his heart. 

* * *

On Thursday, Draco sat at dinner with George and Charlie Weasley and Lee Jordan. Despite Jordan’s obviously biased commentary of the Quidditch games at school, Draco found that he enjoyed the man’s company now. 

“I’m telling you, mate,” said George, picking at the final bites of his roast. “There’s a market for that sort of thing.” 

“For a magical vibrator? You’ve got to be kidding.” Lee just shook his head with a laugh. “I know you love inventing some wild items, but that’s just… a whole new level.” 

“Charlie? I know we talked about this on Monday, but would you care to tell Lee what a git he is?” 

Charlie looked up from his drink. “Hmm?” 

“C’mon! You remember! On Monday I told you all about this idea. You said it sounded brilliant!” George cajoled with a wink. 

Charlie’s brow furrowed. “Monday? I wasn’t even here, mate.” 

“Are you mental? Sat right there and talked over dinner.” 

Charlie just shot his brother a perplexed look and shook his head before picking up his drink and taking a healthy swig. 

George stared at Charlie skeptically. Draco understood why. Charlie had been at least half drunk every day since Pansy had died, but to forget entire conversations… Perhaps there was cause for concern. Draco vowed to keep an eye on Charlie in the future. 

Shaking his head, George rounded on Draco. “What do you think, Malfoy?” 

Draco pulled back slightly. “Me?” 

“Yes, you. Is a magical vibrator something you could see yourself using?” 

Draco’s neck flushed. “See myself using? I don’t—”

“Okay, maybe not for yourself. But perhaps with a lady friend?” George waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Sometimes a witch needs a little extra help. Could be useful…” 

Draco cleared his throat. “Never had any complaints.” He didn’t feel the need to tell George just how long it had been since he’d even had the opportunity to please a woman. 

“I think that’s a yes.” George turned back to Lee with a triumphant smile that Draco didn’t think was really justified. “See?” 

Lee scoffed and took a swig of his butterbeer. “You’re mental, mate.” 

George’s eyes went a bit unfocused for a second as he twirled his knife on the end of his thumb. After a moment, he cracked a smile. “What about an automatic ear hair trimmer?” 

Lee burst out laughing and even Draco joined in. 

A sudden commotion near the front door caused them all to rise to their feet and draw their wands. People were shouting and running toward the entrance from the living room and dining room. 

“What is it? What’s happened?” Potter asked as Ginny entered the house coughing, nearly black with soot. 

“The Westenberg house was attacked,” she said, her voice trembling with terror. “They set the place ablaze.” 

Several other people were filing into headquarters behind her. Cho was cradling her arm, which appeared to be badly burned. Dean Thomas was coughing so badly that he was wheezing for breath, clutching at the wall to support himself. 

“Is this everyone?” Potter asked, his voice urgent, green eyes darting from person to person. 

Draco’s stomach twisted painfully as if he knew what Ginny was going to say before she said it. Where had Granger been stationed? He hoped against hope that it was anywhere but the Westenberg house. Ginny shook her head, her teary blue eyes meeting Draco’s.

“Hermione…” 

Draco’s stomach fell to his shoes as his chest tightened. 

_No. Merlin, please, no._

“...she didn’t make it out.” 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. 
> 
> Lol Just kidding. Can you imagine? 
> 
> Updates every Monday  
> Next chapter: June 29th
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/graceful-lioness) to leave me asks. You can yell at me about what I just did.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the terrible cliffhanger last week! Thank you for all of your kind words. I love this chapter, and I hope you will too! 
> 
> AlphaBet love to BiscuitsForPotter and DisenchantedGlow for their keen eyes.

Draco took in the charred remnants of the Westenberg house. Gone were the familiar, comfortable rooms he had come to know and love so much. All that remained was an ashen wasteland—a scene played out from some of his very worst nightmares. 

Fiendfyre, Potter had told them after a brief investigation. It explained the rapid spread and the utter devastation of everything within the wards. 

His throat was tight and his stomach felt heavy. Everything else felt rather… _numb_. But his heart thudded a steady rhythm in his chest, reminding him that—against all reason and karmic justice—he was still here. 

Around him, the survivors and rescuers searched the wreckage in somber silence. They had hoped, upon initially arriving, that they would find _more…_ Some part of the house that had not been destroyed, and even, perhaps, a survivor within. As the minutes passed, however, this hope waned. 

Draco kept expecting Granger to approach him, tears in her eyes and her hair wild. But as he took in the desolation around him, he realized that she wouldn’t. 

She couldn’t. 

She was gone. 

An eerie twinge traveled across his skin and through every organ in his body as he recognized his current surroundings for what they were: his old bedroom. There was no second level now. Everything that was recognizable was exposed to the night air in a desolate field of ruin. 

She couldn’t have survived. There was no way. His brain fought for him to see the reality of what had happened, but his heart raged against it, refusing to accept that she was truly gone. 

But there was nothing left. The ceiling and walls of the house had crumbled, reduced to debris by the flames. Dust and ash floated in the air as Draco slowly made his way through the remains, stepping over rubble and looking for anything that resembled what it had once been. 

Anything soft or beautiful in the home was gone. All that survived were a few blackened pieces of wood that may have once been a dresser or nightstand. The appliances in the kitchen had been melted into disfigured lumps of molten goo. In what had once been the downstairs bedroom, he could make out the bed springs amidst the ashes. 

It was gone. All gone. Draco felt his heart sink lower and lower in his chest. There was simply no way… no possible way that Granger could be here, alive. 

He felt like crying, but his eyes were far too clogged by dust to do anything but sting.

And then, out of the very corner of his vision, something odd. Obscured by the heavy smoke in the air, a spot of polished brown beneath a thin layer of ash. 

Draco squinted, sure his imagination was playing a trick on him. 

Among all the destruction, sat a singular item still intact. A wardrobe, shockingly untouched by the fire. 

Curious. 

How could this wardrobe have survived unscathed when everything else had been razed to the ground? Draco couldn’t see how. He blinked, wracking his brain for any sort of explanation. The fiendfyre had destroyed everything, and yet this wardrobe remained unblemished. 

It was impossible. The only explanation that Draco thought made sense was if some sort of protective enchantment had been cast over it. But then again, the caster would have to be beyond powerful to make this wardrobe withstand Fiendfyre.

There were only a handful of witches and wizards he could think of that were that powerful. 

_And one of them was…_

Draco swallowed, his eyes growing wide.

Not daring to hope for the best, Draco stepped slowly over the remains of a desk and approached the pristine wooden wardrobe. As he pressed his hand against the doors, he could feel magic pulsing against the surface. Strong magic. 

He wrenched open the doors and there she was. 

Granger looked tiny, her knees drawn up to her chest, face buried in her arms, hand gripping her wand so tightly that her knuckles were white. 

_But she was alive._

Draco took a deep breath, the cool night air sweeping into his lungs and waking up his shattered heart. 

_She was alive._

Granger lifted her head, the whites of her eyes stark against her soot-covered face. A rattling gasp escaped her, and on shaky legs, she clambered out of the wardrobe to throw her arms around his neck. She collapsed against him and buried her face in his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. 

Draco wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to keep her upright. Relief flooded his heart as she clung to him. 

Her breath shuddered. “I knew you’d find me.” 

Heart splintering, Draco pulled her closer, burying his face in her curls and feeling her warmth against him. She was trembling terribly, her legs barely supporting her. Tightening his arms around her waist, he picked her up and she wrapped her legs around him, burying her face against his neck. He could feel tears hitting his skin. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured into her hair. “I’ve got you.” 

Turning away from the wardrobe, he spotted Potter digging through rubble a few metres away. “Potter,” Draco called, making his way toward the Auror. 

Relief washed over Potter’s face. His jaw dropped and eyes went wide as he spotted Granger in Draco’s arms. In an instant, the poised, stoic Auror was gone, replaced by a concerned friend. Eyes shining, he clambered over the burnt remains of the Westenberg house. “Hermione! Thank Merlin. What happened?” 

When Potter reached them, he stretched out his arms, his eyebrows raised in expectation. “Here, I’ll take her.” 

Draco fought his instincts to tell Potter that _he had her_ —that she was safe with him, but before he had a chance to open his mouth, Granger tightened her arms around him like a vice. 

Draco watched as Potter’s eyes widened for the briefest of moments and then narrowed. The Auror was likely surprised and confused at Granger’s strong attachment. Hell, Draco was just as surprised. Just as confused. 

In his arms, Granger turned her head toward Potter and the two shared a brief look. He nodded.

His throat bobbing under a tightened jaw, Potter gestured toward the garden. “Let’s sit down for a moment.” 

Draco made his way out of the charred wreckage of the house and set Granger down on one of the garden benches. He kneeled in front of her, allowing her to cling to his hand like it was the only thing tethering her to this world. 

“Hermione.” Potter kneeled beside Draco and reached out to place a hand on Granger’s knee. “Can you tell me what happened?” 

“They set the house on fire.” Granger coughed between sentences. “I tried to get as many of my notes and phials together as I could, but then the room was ablaze. I knew I wouldn’t be able to save the whole house, or even the room, so I climbed into the wardrobe and focused on containing the fire as much as I could.” 

“That was _Fiendfyre,_ Hermione.” Potter’s green eyes had grown wide again, and Draco suspected he was caught somewhere between wonder and horror. “How were you able to contain it?” 

“I researched it last year after the Room of Requirement,” she explained, squeezing Draco’s hand a bit tighter. “I didn’t want to be caught off guard again.” 

She coughed loudly, a horrible, dry, hacking sound. Her brow furrowed and she leaned forward as she wheezed and choked. 

Draco reached out and brushed her hair away from her face. Tears had left glistening tracks down her soot-covered cheeks. Her coughs subsided and she leaned into his chest, wrapping her arms around him again. 

“I’m going to take her to headquarters to get her checked out,” said Draco, stroking her head as softly as he could. 

“I’m _fine,_ ” Granger mumbled, shaking her head. But she was still trembling, and there was something desperate in the way her fingers were clutching at his back. 

“You’re in shock, Granger,” Draco insisted, careful to keep his tone calm. “We’ll let you give your full report later.” 

He threaded one arm under her knees and picked her up again. 

“I know Kingsley has brought a Healer to headquarters,” said Potter. “You two go on. I’ll tell the others where you’ve gone.” 

With a stiff nod, Draco walked through the gate before turning on the spot and apparating to the edge of Hyde Park. He hurried across the road and disappeared inside the wards of headquarters, all the while feeling Granger’s small frame still clinging to him. 

Once inside, they were met with all of the chaos of an organization that had just suffered a major attack. The living room was filled with Westenberg survivors and the people tending to them. Dawlish was collecting everyone’s account of what had happened at the safe house while a Healer from St. Mungo’s bustled around to be sure everyone was well tended to. Kingsley was talking in low tones with McGonagall and Arthur Weasley, no doubt theorizing as to how this had happened. 

“Hermione!” Ginny jumped up from the couch upon seeing them and bounded over. Her face was no longer soot-covered, though her blue eyes were still glistening. “Are you alright?” 

Granger coughed in response. 

“She’ll be alright.” Draco took a few steps forward to set Granger down in a soft armchair. “She just needs a Healer.” 

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the Healer hurried over to them, coming between Draco and Granger. Draco pulled away with the intention of telling Ginny what had happened, but Granger’s hand darted out and curled around his wrist. Her eyes were pleading as he turned back toward her, as though she was begging him to stay with her. 

“The Healer needs to check you out, Granger,” he said gently, letting her hold his hand for a moment. “I’ll be right here, alright? I’m not going anywhere.” 

A slight twinge of betrayal shimmering in her eyes, she released him and turned her attention to the Healer. 

“Please breathe this in, Miss. To cleanse your lungs.” The Healer shook up a phial and then uncorked it beneath Granger’s nose. A white vapor escaped the glass and she inhaled deeply, pulling it into her lungs. She coughed twice but then her breathing leveled out. 

Draco retreated into the foyer and leaned against the wall between the sitting room and the first floor lavatory, just out of sight of the chaotic scene. Shaking horribly, he took a deep breath, feeling it shudder into his lungs. His throat felt tight, and there was a prickling behind his eyes. He shut them, leaning his head back against the wall in an effort to calm himself. 

“Are you alright?” 

He opened his eyes. Ginny stood before him. 

Draco nodded, wishing he could quell his trembling hands. Reaching up, he carded his fingers through his hair, gripping tightly in an effort to calm himself. 

“She’s going to be just fine.” Ginny reached out and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“I thought she was—” His throat constricted, blocking his words. 

“I know. I did too.” Her blue eyes were swimming with tears as she moved to stand next to him. “You really care about her, don’t you?” 

Draco dropped his arms, head snapping sharply to look at the ginger girl. “I—” He gaped at her, unable or unwilling to answer her question. 

“It’s alright,” Ginny chirped, her lips turning up slightly. “You don’t have to tell me. But you should tell her.” 

Both Ginny and Luna… It seemed that Draco’s affection for Granger had been noticed by everyone… everyone except perhaps Granger, herself. 

Ginny pushed away from the wall and made her way toward the kitchen. “Come on. Let’s get a drink.” 

Draco hesitated, glancing back toward the sitting room. 

Ginny smiled and waved. “She’ll be okay. The Healers will need to check her out thoroughly. You have time for a quick drink.” 

Not wanting to leave Granger, but knowing that a drink would calm his nerves, Draco followed Ginny into the kitchen and sat down at the table. There were already several people there, most partaking from a bottle of firewhisky. 

Draco poured himself a drink, letting the burning liquid numb him ever so slightly. Around him, Ginny fell into conversation with Lee and George, though the topics were far more somber than they had been earlier that day. 

Potter entered after several minutes. He was covered in soot, his hands nearly black. He straightened his glasses and then cast a quick _Scourgify_ on himself before sitting down across from Draco. 

“Do we know how this happened yet?” Draco leaned forward, his words cutting across others’ conversations.

Potter shook his head. “I’ve been taking statements from all the witnesses, but I just don’t know how they managed to find the house. Angelina was the highest of our rank there. She said she was alerted that the first level of wards had been breached. She barely had time to start rounding everyone up before they breached the second level and the house was ablaze. The Death Eaters didn’t even try to enter the house. They just set it on fire and then left. I guess they figured their job was done.” 

“Maybe their job was just to destroy the house, not necessarily to kill anyone,” Ginny suggested, placing her hand gently in Potter’s. 

“It’s no wonder Granger didn’t get out in time. Fiendfyre spreads so rapidly.” Draco took a big gulp of his firewhisky. 

“Hermione was the first one out, actually,” Ginny piped up.

Both Draco and Potter raised their eyebrows. “What do you mean she was out?” Draco implored. 

Ginny glanced between the two of them, her eyes wide. “She and I got out first, but then she ran back in. She shouted something about getting her notes.” 

Before his brain had the chance to keep up with the rest of his body, Draco pushed himself roughly to his feet. All the exhaustion and worry that had been weighing him down turned to burning rage in a flash. Anger coursed through his veins. His teeth gnashed and he clenched his fists. 

“Where are you going?” Potter’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“I need to know why a perfectly sane person would run back into a burning building that everyone else had evacuated,” Draco spat. 

“Malfoy, wait—” Potter began, but Draco was already striding out of the kitchen. 

The sitting room was much quieter when Draco stormed in, eyes looking for any sign of Granger’s bushy head. 

She was sitting in the same chair he’d left her in. Someone had helped clean her up and had brought her some clean clothes. She seemed to be perfectly healthy. There was a steaming cup of tea between her palms, and she was sipping from it as if she hadn’t nearly died an hour ago. 

Gritting his teeth, Draco stepped towards her. Granger’s eyes lit up as he approached, but then fell at the sight of his scowl. A momentary silence stretched between them before Draco’s jaw unclenched enough to speak. 

“Are you alright?” He spoke through his teeth. 

“I—what?” 

“Are. You. Alright? Have the Healers checked you out? Are you okay?” 

Granger’s eyes darted around the room as if trying to identify the source of his ire. “Er—yes.” 

Draco waved down the closest Healer. “Excuse me. Is she alright?” 

The Healer glanced at Granger. “She inhaled quite a bit of smoke, but beyond that—” 

“Has she been treated?” Draco pressed. “Can she go?” 

“She should stay on the premises for the time being,” the Healer advised. “But yes, physically she should be fine.” 

“Fantastic,” Draco droned. “Come on.” He motioned for Granger to follow him with a jerk of his head. 

Blinking and frowning slightly, Granger set her tea on the coffee table and followed Draco out of the room and up the stairs. 

Draco opened the door to his room. He needed to yell at her, or at least have a serious discussion on valuing one's own life over some bloody files, and he needed a quiet place to do it. 

He shut the door, cast a silencing charm, and rounded on her. “Would you care to explain yourself?” 

Granger opened her arms wide, her frown deepening. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

“Ginny said you were _out_. She said you were out and you went back in for your fucking files,” Draco spat, his finger jabbing in her direction.

Granger shook her head. “Not just files. _The antidote_. I’d been brewing all week. I couldn’t just let it all go to waste! What if there’s another attack?” 

“You’re no good to us dead, Granger. We can always brew more antidote.” 

“Every phial counts, and you know it.” Granger’s eyebrows furrowed, accusation in her voice. 

“I _know_ that, but it’s not worth your life! We could have made up the difference in a few days' work. What you did was reckless and, frankly, _stupid_.” 

Granger groaned. “I’m _fine!_ I knew I could contain the flames.” 

“And what if the flames had engulfed the wardrobe before you could contain it? You would be dead.” 

“I would have found another way.” Her tone remained firm, but her eyes shone with uncertainty.

“There was nothing left, Granger. You would have _died_.” 

Granger was quiet for a moment. She dropped her chin and crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re right. I know you’re right. But Draco, I brewed thirty potions this week! I knew they were inside and I just had to try. I’m sorry.” 

“Your life is far more valuable than some stupid potions, Granger.” 

“Why are you so angry?” Granger argued, her eyes lifting to meet his with new ferocity. “It isn’t your duty to protect me anymore.” 

“I don’t care about my _duty_. I only care about _you_!” Draco shouted. “Honestly, Granger, I— _mmph_ —”

His tirade was cut short, for Granger had launched herself across the room and thrown her arms around his neck. Whatever he’d been about to say instantly flew from his mind as her lips landed squarely against his in a fierce kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A much less evil cliffhanger, eh?  
> Leave me a review if you're so inclined! 
> 
> Updates every Monday  
> Next chapter posts: July 6th
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/graceful-lioness) to leave me asks or tell me your theories, etc.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to BiscuitsForPotter and DisenchantedGlow as always. 
> 
> I think y'all might like this one. ;)

Granger was kissing him. 

She was kissing him, and his heart was bursting. 

Reacting automatically, Draco’s arms circled her waist. He pulled Granger into him and clung to her as if his life depended on it. Her fingers were in his hair, gripping him and pulling his head down to meet hers. Kissing her back in earnest, Draco’s heart was beating so rapidly that he thought he might die of elation. 

In a flash, it was over, and she stumbled back. Her eyes were wide in shock, one hand flying to her lips as a pink flush spread over her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I—” 

Draco just shook his head and stepped into her. He’d be damned if he let her pull away from him now. He’d tasted her, and like a starving man, he needed more. 

His hands shot out, drawing her back to him by the nape of her neck. Lips met lips and she sighed against his mouth, warm and sweet. As he opened his mouth, her tongue darted past his teeth, tickling the tip of his tongue. He deepened the kiss, desperate for more. 

Her hands were at his waist, gently gripping his robes and pulling him closer until his hips collided with hers. The sensation shot straight to his groin and he groaned. He could feel her breasts pressed against his chest as she arched into him, tilting her head back so that he could devour her. 

He broke away, dragging his lips across her jaw and kissing her neck. She let out a breathy sigh and dug her fingers into his back. “Draco…” The sound of his name on her lips only encouraged him.

Half-crazed by lust, he opened his mouth, sinking his teeth into her neck just above her shoulder. Not quite hard enough to break the skin, but enough to elicit a gasp from her lips. He pulled back slightly, running his tongue along his bite mark and kissing his way back up the smooth column of skin. As he reached a spot just under her ear, he was rewarded by a soft whimper as she pushed her hips forward and rolled them against his burgeoning erection.

“ _Fuck_ , Granger.” 

She turned her head, capturing his lips again and moving her arms around his neck. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her up and she circled her legs around him. He could feel his erection pressing against her center, and judging by the little gasp that escaped her, Granger could too. 

He walked her over to the bed and set her down on the edge of it. Her hands flew to the buttons of his shirt and he pulled back, blinking in surprised as he remembered what had just happened to her. 

“Wait,” he rasped out.

She paused, wide eyes full of lust as she looked up at him. It was all he could do to stop her hands. He took a deep breath. 

“You’ve been through a lot today. Surely we shouldn’t…” 

Granger smirked, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “I feel fine.” 

“I’m sure a Healer would tell you that this is reckless.”

“I _am_ a Healer.” 

Draco chuckled. “A different Healer then. This is too much strenuous activity after what happened to you.” 

Granger’s fingernail traced an absentminded pattern along his chest where she’d opened the buttons. She bit her lip and looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Well, then I guess you’ll just have to be gentle with me.” 

Fuck _._

Where had this seductress come from? 

_Fuck._

He was done for. 

“Gentle?” he teased with a smirk. “You’ve forgotten who you’re talking to.” 

Granger’s eyes went nearly black as she pulled him in by the front of his robes. Their mouths collided again, and he wrapped one arm around her waist and dragged her further up onto the bed until he could lie over her properly. 

Her fingers were quick against the buttons of his shirt, continuing where she had left off, and he pulled back as she pushed it over his shoulders. Sitting up enough to shed the starched cotton properly, he looked down at her. 

Draco had seen this before—her hair fanned out around her head like a halo. Though he’d only actually seen her like this once after their pillow fight, he’d imagined her like this countless times in his dreams. And reality was so much better than anything his mind could conjure.

What he had never seen—never dared to imagine—was the lustful fire in her eyes as they roved over his chest. 

Leaning down, his hands delved under the hem of her shirt. He dragged it up slowly, amused by the way her muscles contracted slightly at his touch. He pulled the shirt over her breasts, eyebrows lifting in surprise at the lacy blue bra underneath. 

Granger grinned at him, lifting up slightly to remove her top the rest of the way. Draco dropped his head, peppering kisses along her creamy stomach and up her ribcage. He filled a palm with one of her breasts, kneading it through her bra. She arched her back slightly, pressing forward into his touch. 

His mouth found her other breast, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the lace as she let out a little moan. He pulled the cups of her bra down, and his eyes took her in. Round and perky, with perfectly pink nipples, pebbled in anticipation. He brushed his thumb over one of them and she keened. 

He was rock hard against her hip. A ragged breath escaped him as he stared at her. His heart was pounding in his chest at his excitement of finally being able to touch her like this. After so many weeks of trying to deny himself of her affections. Leaning back down, his lips closed around one nipple and flicked his tongue against it. 

_Merlin,_ she was beautiful. He could have spent an hour just worshipping her perfect breasts. But with the way her hips were gyrating against him, he guessed that she had other plans in mind. 

He reached around her back, enjoying the way she automatically arched to accommodate his hands. Her breasts pressed forward toward his face, and he kissed the soft valley between them as he deftly undid the hooks of her bra. Pulling it away, he let his hands press over her chest and neck, running his thumbs along her clavicles as he let his lips travel her exposed flesh. 

One of her knees bent, allowing him to slot his hips between hers, his erection straining against the fabric that separated them. Their cores were hot and needy against each other. He snapped his hips forward and she rolled against him. 

They were still wearing far too much clothing. Draco's hands travelled down, brushing over Granger's stomach on their way to the waistband of her jeans. Desperate for her mouth again, he kissed his way back up her neck to catch her lips. 

Her hands roamed his chest and shoulders as they kissed slowly. He was in no hurry. He’d waited months for this… for _her_. All he wanted now was to savor every inch. 

His heart ached with the joy of touching her, kissing her, feeling her beneath him. So full was his heart, and so open were his emotions, that he had to keep kissing her out of fear of what he might say if his mouth was left unoccupied. 

But _Merlin_ … she was… _everything._

His fingers freed the button of her jeans and he dragged the zipper down. He could feel the warmth radiating from her core as he maneuvered his hand into her trousers, brushing against her knickers and feeling the soaked lace. 

“Merlin, Granger,” he chuckled. “I haven’t even touched you yet.” 

She grinned at him. “Nor have I touched you,” she teased, one hand dipping down to grip him through his trousers. “And yet…” 

_“Minx.”_

He pushed her jeans over her hips and stood to pull them off her legs. His own trousers soon joined hers on the floor. He crawled up her body slowly, kissing up her thighs, tickling and teasing her with his fingers as he went. When he began to drag her knickers down her legs, her breath hitched and her head lifted off the bed to watch him. 

Her delicate patch of brown curls was before him, quite close to his face. He could smell her arousal. Discarding her knickers, he nudged her thighs to encourage her to open her legs for him. 

A red flush rose to her cheeks and she dropped her head back onto the bed with a groan as she spread herself before him.

He took in her glistening folds and reached forward, brushing his fingers against them. She was already practically dripping for him. As he brushed against her swollen clit, her hips bucked and she let out a little squeak. He smirked and surged forward, slowly laving his tongue against her slit. 

A ragged gasp escaped her and one of her hands delved into his hair. He licked her again, this time swirling his tongue around her bud as his fingers teased her entrance. Her hips circled as if out of her control, and her mouth must have fallen open, for all of her moans and gasps had grown louder. Her inhibitions were falling. 

But he wanted her undone. 

He pushed two fingers into her and twisted them, curling them and pulling them back against the top wall of her as he closed his lips around her clit and sucked hard. 

She nearly bolted upright. Her legs bent up around his head and her hand gripped his hair hard. “Mmm… yes!” she gasped. 

He quickened his pace, flicking his tongue over her as his fingers fucked her. Writhing with his touch, he could tell she was getting close. Moans flew from her lips. “ _Fuck… yes… don’t stop… gonna… gonna… yes…"_

_“Oh!”_

And then her back arched off the bed and she stilled against his touch for a few blissful seconds. Then she quivered and writhed, her hips snapping and swirling as a contented sigh fell from her mouth. 

He didn’t stop until she had stilled, relaxing against the bed with a satisfied groan. He kissed her clit once more and she flinched with a little laugh. Sitting up, he took in the sight of her. She was limp, her arms and legs splayed open, exposing every inch of herself to him. Her eyes were open, but her gaze was far away, her lips parted with just the hint of a smile. Beautiful. Perfect. So very alive. 

He kissed his way back up her body, taking a moment to worship each breast on his way back to her mouth. She kissed him freely, seemingly unbothered by the taste of herself on his tongue. 

“Satisfied?” he asked, arching an eyebrow at her. 

She grinned. “Almost.” 

And then her hands were pushing his boxers over his hips and down his legs. Before he could properly kick them off his feet, her hand had wrapped around his hard length. “Fuck, Granger,” he hissed as she pumped him experimentally a few times. 

“Yes, that’s the general idea.” 

He pulled her hand away from him and pinned both her wrists to the bed over her head with a growl. “As the lady commands,” he smirked. 

Slowly, savoring every second, he sank into her warm sheath. Granger groaned and her back arched toward him. He slid in all the way to the hilt, stilling when he could go no further and letting himself enjoy the feeling of just being inside of her for the very first time. 

“Perfect,” he groaned, releasing her wrists and burying his face against her neck. 

Her lips caught his earlobe, and she nibbled lightly as her hips rolled against him, encouraging him even deeper. 

Her fingers danced across his shoulders and the back of his neck, and Draco wondered when the last time was that he’d been so blissfully happy. He kissed her again as he drew back and drove into her for the second time. She moaned into his mouth, her hips rising to meet him as they began a steady rhythm together. 

Kissing Granger was perhaps the most blissful experience of Draco’s life. Perhaps even more blissful than fucking her… _Almost._

Her hands explored him with a sort of awed reverence as their hips snapped against each other. The pads of her fingers blazed hot paths over his chest. 

He circled an arm under her hips and hoisted her up, rocking himself back on his haunches to drive into her with new force. 

She sat up, bracing herself with one hand against the bed as she gyrated against him. As she arched her spine and threw her head back, he was granted a tantalizing view of her breasts. He pulled her against him, mouth finding her breast and tongue swirling around her nipple as he thrust into her dripping heat. 

Her fingers dug into his shoulders as their coupling grew more frantic. “Draco, I—I—” Her hips were snapping more erratically, her breath coming out in ragged puffs. 

He could feel a tightening deep within him, but he knew he could last. He could get her off again. 

Pushing her back down onto the bed, he drew one of her legs up, the new angle granting him mind-blowing depth. He bottomed out within her, seeing stars. “Fuck.” Gritting his teeth to hold back, he reached between them to swirl the pad of his thumb against her clit as he fucked her. 

She bucked her hips, and he knew she was close. “Come for me, Granger,” he breathed against her lips. “Need you—” 

With a cracked cry, Granger came with incredible force, her walls clamping down on him like a vice. Draco cursed and followed her over the edge, his mouth spewing fragmented sentiments as he emptied himself inside of her. 

Thoroughly spent, they lay together, chests colliding with each laboured breath. He kissed her slowly, unwilling to draw himself out of her just yet. Her muscles were still fluttering slowly around him and he twitched within her. 

Finally, when he was far too sensitive to remain, he pulled out of her with a shiver and collapsed next to her with a sigh. With a wave of her hand, Granger summoned her wand and cast two spells over herself. One to clean up the mess that was dripping from her, and another that he recognized as a contraceptive charm. She then placed her wand on his beside table and turned on her side to face him. 

He reached forward, brushing an errant curl from her eyes as he drank in the sight of her. She looked so… happy. Happier than he ever recalled seeing her. To think that he had something to do with that happiness made his heart soar. 

Inching closer, he drew her into his arms and kissed her for perhaps the hundredth time, relishing the feeling of lying next to her, not as companions escaping the loneliness of a sleepless night, but as lovers. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” She smiled against his lips. 

“Me too,” he laughed, letting his hands dance along her neck. “Ages.” 

She sighed and nestled closer to him, wrapping her arm around him and resting her head on his shoulder. 

He could feel the warmth radiating from her naked body as she draped one leg over his. How natural it felt to be with her in this way. And to think he’d nearly killed her ten months ago. 

Feeling his chest constrict, he squeezed her a bit tighter. He could feel her heart beating against his side, a reminder that she was alive. Despite her many brushes with death, she was alive, and he vowed to do everything in his power to keep her that way. 

He couldn’t stop himself from just staring at her, letting his eyes dance over her face as she looked at him in return. Her lips twitched up in a smile as his thumb caressed her cheek gently. 

“What?” she breathed when he had stared at her for too long. 

“Nothing,” he replied with a grin. “I just feel…” He trailed off, not sure exactly how he felt. 

“Yes?” she pressed. 

“I feel…Never mind. It’s stupid.” 

“No, tell me. _Please."_ Her eyes were bright, and he once again knew that his secrets were safe with her. She was perhaps the least judgemental person he had ever met, and he knew that whatever he said, it would never scare her off. 

But still, this was too much, for he’d been about to say _home._ He felt _home. She_ felt like home. So instead of saying something so nauseatingly truthful, he drew her face to him and kissed her deeply. Hopefully it would be enough to satisfy her curiosity. When he pulled back, she beamed at him as if she knew exactly how he felt. 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the slow burn payoff was worth it for you all! Let me know what you think if you're so inclined. 
> 
> Updates every Monday  
> Next chapter posts: July 13th
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/graceful-lioness) because getting asks brings me joy!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to my alphabet team, BiscuitsForPotter and DisenchantedGlow, who probably suffered several lady boners as a result of this chapter. 
> 
> NSFW content ahead. ;) Enjoy.

In his dream, Granger was kissing him. His cheeks, his neck, his chest. He groaned, swearing that he could almost feel her warmth against him. 

“Good morning,” a voice purred. 

Draco blinked, his eyes squinting against the early morning light streaming in through his windows. The warm feeling of Granger’s touch was still there, trailing lower over his torso until a warm hand gripped his hard length. 

His eyes shot open. It was no dream. Granger was next to him, stroking him with strong, firm movements without hesitation, her lips trailing a hot path along his neck. 

“Granger…” he moaned as her tongue slipped out and snaked down his stomach. 

“Hmm?” 

Her touch ventured lower, her breath now hitting his lower abdomen in hot puffs. 

“What are you…?” he began. 

But before he could finish, his cock was enveloped in the soft warmth of her mouth. _“Fuck,”_ he hissed, unable to stop the bucking of his hips up into her mouth. 

She pulled back briefly, and he opened his eyes to see her pulling her hair over her shoulder before puckering her lips around him again. 

He threw his head back into the pillow as she took him into her mouth, shallow at first, but then deeper. He cursed, one hand flying to her cheek as she sucked gently. 

One of her hands wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking him in time with her mouth as she bobbed on him. Draco did his best to lie still, but couldn’t stop the occasional twitch of his hips as she swirled her tongue around him just so. 

She didn’t take him deep, but what she lacked in depth she made up for in skill. Her head tilted one way and then the other as she bobbed up and down, granting him a twisting feeling that was magnified by the constant movement and swirling of her tongue. He couldn’t resist lifting his head to watch her mouth on him. Watching his cock disappear behind her pink lips was like a dream. 

Every minute or so, she would release him with a pop, taking a deep breath and kissing the tip of him with reverence. He watched with awe as she looked up at him through her eyelashes as her tongue dragged up the underside of his cock. 

A string of incoherent curses left his lips as she took him as deep as she could, saliva pouring down his hardened length as she pulled back with a gasp. 

“Fucking goddess,” he groaned, letting his thumb stroke the hollow of her cheek as she sucked him hard. 

It was too much. The warmth, the wetness, the suction of her gorgeous mouth on him. After only a few minutes he felt a familiar tightening within him. “Granger, stop. I’m gonna… _fuck_ …” 

She didn’t stop, and in a burst of ecstasy, he came hard into her willing mouth. She swallowed every bit before swirling her tongue around him once more and releasing him with a small pop. 

With a lick of her lips and a grin that was entirely too sexy, she crawled back up his body to drape herself across him. 

Panting, Draco let his hands roam her naked back and waist. “Good morning, indeed,” he smirked.

Granger laughed, her cheeks flushing beautifully before she kissed him gently. 

“Do you make a habit of waking your lovers up in such ways?” Draco teased. 

Rolling onto her back next to him, Granger chuckled. “I’ve actually never done that before.” 

Draco twisted away from her slightly to look at her properly. He could scarcely believe that _that_ had been her first blowjob. “Really?” 

“Oh, I mean… I’ve done… _that_ before. Just never quite so early in the morning.” 

“Ah, I see. Well, I can easily say that it has been the most lovely wake up call of my life.” He rolled onto his side, letting his eyes drift over her naked body. He drank in her breasts, the gentle curves of her waist and her full hips, down to her slender legs. As he gently ran his fingers along her skin, she shivered. 

There was fire in her eyes, and just looking at them caused his cock to twitch, already beginning to grow hard again. 

Slowly, he ran his hand up her stomach to trace circles on one of her breasts. In the light of day, he could see her more clearly. Every tiny response to his actions was more visible. Her nipple hardened as he swept his thumb over it and gave it a light pinch before switching to the other breast. 

Granger’s eyes darted over his face as he explored her slowly. Judging by the softness of the light in the room, it was still early. He hoped that it would be hours before they had to separate from each other and face the reality of the world outside his little room. 

The previous night felt like a dream. He could scarcely believe that it had really happened. But she was here. She was here and she was naked and she was looking at him with such fire. 

He couldn’t wait to feel her again—to be buried within her and to feel her flutter around him because of the pleasure that _he_ gave her. He dipped his hand lower, brushing over the curls at the apex of her thighs. Her legs fell open, and he found her already wet for him. Moaning his approval, Draco leaned over her to kiss her deeply. 

He could taste himself on her tongue as it slipped between his lips. Her hand lifted to the nape of his neck, drawing him closer, her fingers delving into his hair. With a groan, he slid two fingers into her, pumping them languidly before withdrawing to circle her sensitive bud. Keening, Granger arched her back and swirled her hips against his touch. 

He broke the kiss to trail his lips down her neck. She seemed to have liked having her neck kissed last night, and he hoped he could replicate what he’d done. His tongue darted out at a spot just below her ear and he was rewarded with a high moan from her lips. Grinning, he kissed the spot again, and Granger’s finger’s tightened in his hair, her hips canting desperately against his hand. 

_“Draco…”_

Merlin, he was hard. With a groan, he moved back to her mouth, kissing her hard and pumping his fingers into her dripping cunt quickly as she writhed against him. 

With a wicked grin, Granger sat up and pushed Draco flat onto his back before swinging one leg over his pelvis. He settled his hands on her hips as her hand found his cock, gripping him hard and stroking him before slowly sinking down on top of it with a moan. 

Draco hissed as he was enveloped in her wet heat, and had to close his eyes in ecstasy as she swiveled her hips against him. She sat upright as her hips moved in tantalizing circles, burying her hands in her own wild hair. 

He thrust up into her, his fingers digging into her hip bones hard. Who would have guessed that Granger would be one to take control in the bedroom? Certainly not Draco. And yet, there she was, riding him with abandon, fingers in her hair, arching her back, tits bouncing with each thrust, her mouth open in unrestrained pleasure. 

Fuck, she was exquisite. Magnificent. Perfection. Just when he opened his mouth so say a million highly sentimental and extremely stupid things, she bent down, sweeping her thick hair to one side, and kissed him deeply. She moaned into his mouth as their hips snapped together with fervor. 

She braced herself against the headboard to push against him with better resistance and depth. Draco cursed as she fucked him with abandon. Her mouth was hot and urgent against his, her tongue swirling in a way that made his mind stutter. 

His brain could scarcely keep up with this new version of Granger. His senses were overpowered by her. The feel of her everywhere, the scent of her arousal and her shampoo, the sound of her breathy moans and gasps. 

Knowing he wouldn’t last long, even after his earlier orgasm, Draco needed to take charge. He flipped them over, Granger falling onto her back in the pillows with a surprised gasp.

Draco didn’t waste any time. He pulled one of her legs up over his shoulder and drove into her hard, fucking her at a punishing pace. With a cry, Granger threw her head back, but one of her hands dipped between them. Draco looked down, shocked to discover that she was making fast circles on herself where they joined. 

“Fuck,” he choked, feeling the telltale signs of his impending release. Just when he thought he might finish before her, her body jolted and her mouth opened wide as her eyes squeezed shut. 

The walls of her cunt clamped down around him and she quivered with her release. After only a few more thrusts, Draco came with a curse. 

As their breath slowed and their heart rates returned to normal, Draco released her leg from his shoulder but stayed above her, kissing her slowly as his cock slipped from inside her. 

She sighed as his lips trailed down her neck. “Can we stay in here all day?” 

“As long as no one comes looking for you, I’ll stay locked away with you all week.” He nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck. 

“Fuck,” she groaned after a moment. “I still need to give Harry my report.” 

“Do it later,” Draco insisted, capturing one of her nipples between his teeth playfully. 

She laughed and wiggled under his teasing touch. “And if Harry comes looking for me? I doubt any of us would like for him to find us in such a compromising position.”

Sighing, Draco rolled away from her. “Fine. But come back quickly, won’t you? And bring something to eat. I’m famished.” 

“There will probably be a meeting later,” Granger pointed out. “We’ll need to face the world at some point.” 

“I’m happy to postpone that for as long as possible.” 

Granger sat up, running her hands through her mass of tangled curls. Glancing around the room at their scattered clothes, she sighed. “I need a shower.” 

“There’s no point, Granger. I plan on having you at least twice more before the meeting this afternoon.” Draco reached out and trailed a finger along the curve of her spine. 

She looked over her shoulder at him, one of her eyebrows twitching upwards. “You want me to go talk to Harry like this?” 

The idea of her delivering her report to Potter after their activities was actually incredibly sexy. He wondered if Potter would notice the change in her and guess what she’d been up to that morning. Draco could just imagine her with hair sinfully tousled and her cunt still wet with his come as she tried to maintain an air of professionalism.

Draco couldn’t help the wolfish grin that came over his face. 

With a laugh, Granger rolled her eyes. “Gross.” 

She stood from the bed, gathering up her clothes and putting them on. Draco watched her closely, noticing how her body moved a bit differently after sex. She was more relaxed, all of her motions smoother, almost catlike. “You will come back, won’t you?” It was a pathetically desperate thing to ask, but Granger just smiled at him. 

“Yes. As soon as I can.” She straightened her shirt and then leaned over him, her lips brushing against his so sweetly. Pulling back, her hand came to rest on the side of his face, her thumb running along his lower lip. “Don’t move.” With a final smirk, she left. 

Draco stared up at the ceiling, hardly believing the events of the past several hours. 

He’d fucked Granger.

No… that wasn’t the right word. Far too crass for the way he was feeling. 

Even shagged wasn’t right. That just left… 

He’d _made love_ to Granger. 

A knot of anxiety settled in his stomach at the thought. 

_Love_. 

Draco had never been in love with anyone before. He'd been fond of people. He had cared for people, of course. But love? 

His heart quickened and he found his palms a bit sweaty. He wiped them on the bedspread and sat up. 

He had no idea how long Granger would be talking to Potter. Perhaps he should do something to keep busy rather than just sit around and contemplate the horrors of possibly being in love. 

Standing up, Draco set to work gathering up his own scattered clothes from the night before. He placed them in the laundry bin and then performed a spell to freshen the sheets. Before padding to the window, he pulled on some boxers and a t-shirt. He was confident in his body, but he still didn’t like the idea of someone looking up from the garden and seeing him stark naked. 

It was still early, but George and Angelina were sitting together at a patio table sipping coffee and nibbling on toast. The ginger man looked up at Draco and winked. Draco waved back half-heartedly. Had the wink been just that? Or did George know why he and Granger had disappeared last night? 

And would it be so terrible if the Order found out what had happened? 

It occurred to Draco that starting things up with Granger while living in such close quarters had unwittingly set their relationship into hyperdrive. They’d been lovers for less than twelve hours and they were already living together, for Merlin’s sake. 

He took a deep breath, aware of the fact that his heart was beginning to race. Turning away from the window, he ventured back to the bed and laid down. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his worries about the future by recalling the feelings he’d had hours ago while holding Granger in his arms. 

“Draco…” 

He jolted awake, not even recalling falling asleep. Granger was tiptoeing across his room with a tray of food. Draco sat up, rubbing his eyes. She’d changed her clothes and probably showered by the look of her hair. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be asleep.” 

“It’s fine.” He cleared his throat. “How did your meeting with Potter go?” 

“It was no big deal. He already had most of the details from the other people at Westenberg.” She set the tray on the bed and then climbed on to sit next to him. “He’s meeting with Kingsley and Dawlish now to try to figure out how it happened and why.” 

Draco glanced at the food she’d brought. Everything was piled onto one plate. There was toast and bacon and a bowl on the side full of fresh fruit. She’d brought enough for both of them without making it obvious that she was preparing a meal for two. “Do you have any theories?” he asked, reaching for a strip of bacon. 

Granger shrugged as she bit into a piece of toast. “I haven’t the foggiest idea how. Maybe they’re getting their intel in a similar way that we get ours. I mean, we’ve also found two of _their_ safe houses over the past few months. We don’t have a spy in their midst. As for why… well, it could be they still want me dead. The first attack could have been targeting Pansy for deserting. This one could have been about trying to kill me. Your guess is as good as mine.” 

Draco stared at her as she tried to work it all out in her mind. Her brow was furrowed, but she didn’t seem to be frightened by the prospect of being targeted with such near success. Instead, she seemed far more interested in just figuring out the puzzle of it all. 

She bit into a strawberry, and a bit of juice escaped her lips and rolled down her chin. Though she reached up to wipe it away, Draco grabbed hold of her hand. Leaning in, he let his tongue dart out to catch the sweet droplet before kissing her tenderly. When he pulled away, her cheeks were pink, but she was smiling. 

As much as he wanted to continue kissing her, he was still starving, so he forced himself to sit back once again so that they could both finish their meal. 

“Does it scare you?” Draco asked, reaching for one of the plump strawberries from the bowl. “That you might still be a target, I mean.” 

Granger’s eyes met his briefly before flickering away. “A bit, yes. I suppose no one likes to know they’re being hunted. But it’s no scarier than the year I spent on the run with Harry and Ron. There were a lot of things that happened that year that felt like much closer calls than what happened to me yesterday. Even when I ran back into the burning house and I felt the flames closing in on me, I had a plan. I was frightened, of course, but I knew how I could survive it. The same couldn’t be said at… well, at the Manor.” 

Draco’s eyes flickered to her arm, falling upon the shiny white scar. She normally kept it covered. It was rare that she wore short sleeves, and Draco didn’t think he had ever seen it this close. Though it had surely faded slightly over the past two years, it was still jagged and raised against her creamy skin. 

Granger cleared her throat. “I never thanked you for lying to Bellatrix about Harry.” 

“Don’t,” Draco hissed. “You don’t owe me anything. I did nothing to earn your thanks.” 

“You might think so, but you’re wrong. If you had identified him, Voldemort would have been called immediately. We never would have made it out. You bought us time, and that was everything.” 

Draco shook his head, refusing to let her paint him as some kind of hero. As if his actions had been gallant, and not just the hesitations of a frightened child. 

Moving the tray to the bedside table, Granger turned to him. Her hands went to either side of his face, a smile gracing her lips as her eyes darted between his. “Enough sulking about the past, yeah?” And then she leaned in and kissed him gently, coaxing him out of his brooding mind. 

He kissed her back, but his body was just going through the motions. His mind still stuck on his past. 

“Come on,” she purred, trailing her kisses down his neck. “You said you wanted me twice before the meeting.” 

Her words sent a jolt straight to Draco’s cock. 

“You do still want me, don't you?” Her voice was breathy as her hands dragged down his neck to rest on his chest. 

Banishing his insecurities about his past, Draco pulled her face up to capture her lips in a searing kiss. She responded immediately, swinging one leg over his lap to straddle him as they snogged. Her hands were on his chest, leaving warmth that he could feel through his thin shirt. 

She was insatiable, this witch, already rolling her hips against him as she opened her mouth to him. One of his hands curved around her neck to delve into her thick curls, the other settled on her hip, gripping her hard as she swiveled against him. 

Her hands gripped the bottom of his t-shirt and pulled, causing them to break away briefly so that she could rid him of it. He pulled her top off as well, eyeing her simple pink bra underneath. Dipping his head, he dragged his lips across her collar bone and dropped lower to nuzzle each breast lovingly. She sighed, her fingers gripping his hair. 

There was a freckle just above her left breast, near her sternum, not quite centered. He kissed it, wishing to memorize every bit of her. He wondered where else she had beauty marks, and if he would one day have them all mapped out in his mind like a beautiful constellation of stars. 

She pulled away from him and he looked up in confusion as she stood from the bed. He felt the loss of her instantly, like she’d taken a piece of him with her. But she wasn’t gone long. It seemed she’d just stood to rid herself of her trousers. She shimmied out of them and stood before him in her knickers, before slowly shedding those as well. 

Fully nude and brazen, she stepped back toward him, her eyes burning with desire as they danced over him, pausing on his chest and the sizable bulge in his pants. 

It seemed like madness to Draco, to still want her this badly when he’d already had her twice in such a short time. And yet, he could feel his heart beating quickly with anticipation as she climbed back onto the bed, her fingers reaching for his pants. 

He helped her remove them before her hand was around him, gentle but sure. She stroked him as they kissed urgently. 

Perhaps she liked being on top, for she straddled him again, this time leaning low over his face to kiss him as she guided his cock to her entrance. 

Sinking into her felt so mind numbingly blissful, that Draco could think of nothing but her for several seconds. She began to ride him, and Draco let his hands travel down to palm the firm globes of her arse. He’d been somewhat obsessed with her arse since he’d seen her bend over in her jeans the day he’d come home from the hospital. To have his hands on her now was like his most depraved dreams brought to life. 

He thrust up into her steadily, desperate to keep pace with her as she swiveled her hips in little circles. She rocked forward and back, she moved in a figure eight pattern, she kept him gasping and breathless for her next move, all while keeping perfect time with the snap of his pelvis. He wondered fleetingly if she had read books on the subject, but had to quickly banish the thought, because the idea of Granger studying up on sexual activities was enough to almost send him over the edge much too early. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, forcing himself to think of anything but her bent over a book of advanced sexual pleasure techniques in a dusty corner of the library. 

Quidditch. Potions. Spell technique. _Anything_ but a sexually curious Hermione Granger. 

She pulled back, her eyes locking with his as their hips snapped together more frantically than before. Her hair was falling down around their faces, almost blocking out the light from the bedroom window. 

Draco could have watched her face for hours. It was fascinating, seeing her here with her walls down. Her brow was furrowed, her mouth was open to allow little moans and gasps to escape, and her eyes, normally the color of bright honey, were so blown wide by her desire that they were nearly black. 

“Beautiful,” he heard himself murmur, sweeping her hair to one side of her head so that he could see her more clearly. 

Her eyes drifted shut at his voice and the little crease on her brow deepened as she let out a little cry. Draco could tell she was quite close as her hips began to snap against his more erratically, losing their steady rhythm. 

“That’s it, Granger.” He squeezed her arse harder and she gasped, fucking him faster as she sought her release. “Yes,” he coaxed. He wanted to help get her off, but their bodies were too tightly connected and he knew he wouldn’t be able to reach her. But he could feel her grinding against the base of him, and it seemed she wouldn’t need his fingers on her. 

“Look at me,” he encouraged, wanting to watch her come apart.

Her eyes flew open and in that moment, she came undone. With a cry, she shook around him, the walls of her cunt squeezing him harder than ever. It was all he could do to hold back, but he didn’t want to miss a moment of her beautiful orgasm. 

Their eyes stayed connected the whole time, until she was spent and lay against him, still except for the small aftershakes that quivered her muscles. She smiled, her eyelids drooping closed in her contentment. She dropped her head, peppering light kisses languidly over his cheeks and down his neck. 

He thrust into her slowly, letting his hands travel over her backside and up the gentle curve of her spine. He was close, the tightening in his bollocks a dead giveaway. Granger rolled her hips against him again, and Draco finally let himself think of her in her Hogwarts uniform. Perhaps she’d gotten off while looking up sexual techniques. Pulling up her skirt in the library when she’d thought no one was looking. Fingering herself while reading about how to please a man until she was coming, trying desperately to stifle her moans which would surely echo around the library. 

He quickened his pace again, not needing to fantacize about her in the library when she was here fucking him, but finding himself unable to stop the thoughts. Had she always been this wanton? This sexy? Had he simply been too blind and too bigoted to notice? 

Her lips met his, her tongue swirling into his mouth as she squeezed her inner muscles hard. With a groan, he came hard within her. She kissed him until his cock was done twitching, and then she pulled away with a grin. 

“You’re really something, do you know that?” he panted as she lifted herself off of him and nestled into his side under his arm. 

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” she chirped as her fingers danced across his chest to draw mindless patterns. 

“You should. I meant it as one.” 

His emotions were swirling within him unchecked. It had been days since he’d occluded to try to tamp down his feelings for her. Perhaps that was why all of this had happened. Maybe he should have let his emotions loose ages ago. 

Granger lifted her head to look at the clock on his bedside table. “We only have a couple of hours before the meeting.” 

Draco groaned, dreading the moment when they would have to leave this room. What if they were stationed to different safe houses again? He didn’t know if he could bear to be away from her so soon after finally having her. Perhaps he could talk to Shacklebolt about being reassigned to her protective duty again. But even then, he would only be guaranteed three days with her before having nine days away. 

He rolled toward her to wrap his arms around her a bit tighter. Their faces were close, noses nearly touching. She looked up at him with wide eyes before smiling broadly and snuggling in closer so that her body was flush against him. 

“Did you mean what you said last night?” she asked, slightly muffled against his chest. “That you care about me?” 

“Of course I did,” he said at once. It was a massive understatement, to say that he simply _cared_ for her. “In fact, I—” he trailed off, not knowing how to put into words the depth of his feelings for her. Surely he couldn’t say… _that word._ He couldn’t even think about it. It was much too soon. “I… I care for you very deeply,” he concluded, knowing that it sounded very lame, but it was the best he could do. 

Granger lifted her head again to beam at him. “Me too,” she said. “I mean… I care for _you_ very deeply too. I have for some time now.” 

He kissed her, getting the distinct impression that she was holding her words back as well. But he didn’t really care if she was withholding something from him. All he could do was bask in the warm glow of her care for him. For it felt very nice to care for someone and to be cared for in return. 

* * *

They laid together for at least an hour, saying very little, but enjoying the feel of being wrapped around each other. At last, when the meeting was looming closer, Granger extracted herself from his grasp and sat up. “We need to shower. The meeting is soon.” 

“How would you like to shower with me?” he asked, wagging his eyebrows at her suggestively. 

She glanced at him incredulously. “What if someone notices?” 

Draco shrugged. “We can silence the room. That way you can scream as loud as you’d like.” 

She laughed and bit the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. “Alright.” She rose from the bed and began to pick up her clothes.

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

“Well, I’m not going to walk to the shower starkers, am I?” she scoffed. 

Draco pouted but then pushed himself to standing. He walked to the wardrobe and pulled out his favorite green jumper and tossed it to her. “Wear this. It’ll cover you.” 

She caught the jumper and looked at him in shock. “Seriously?” 

“The loo is right next door, Granger. I doubt anyone is going to see you in the four seconds it’ll take us to get there.” Besides, he couldn’t get the mental image of her wearing Weasley’s jumper out of his mind. He’d been obsessed with the idea of seeing her like that again since that night, only this time she’d be wearing his jumper instead of Weasley’s. 

She pulled the garment over her head. It fell to the middle of her thighs and swallowed her arms. Draco grinned before pulling on some loose fitting pajama trousers. “Let’s go,” he said. 

Granger shifted her weight nervously between her feet. “Draco—I—I’m not ashamed of you, I hope you know that. But I’m just—I just don’t think I’m ready for people to know just yet. I’d rather tell them than let them find out on their own.” 

Draco snatched up his wand and murmured, “ _Homenum Revelio Charta.”_ A small map of headquarters burst from his wand and he studied it carefully. There were two little blue dots in his room, one for himself and one for Granger. Most of the other dots were downstairs in the kitchen, dining room, or sitting room. There were two other blue dots upstairs with them, but they were in separate bedrooms far down the corridor. “Looks like the coast is clear,” he announced before letting the map disappear. 

“That’s a clever spell,” Granger praised, her eyes bright on him. 

“I invented it.” 

“You did?” Her tone was surprised, even impressed as she followed him to the door. 

“Yes. Didn’t know I was so brilliant and sexy did you?” he teased, sending her a cheeky smirk over his shoulder. 

Granger lifted an eyebrow suggestively. “No, I knew.” 

His cock twitched and he opened the door, peeking out into the corridor to be sure it was still clear. He then pulled the door open and let Granger sneak out ahead of him to the loo. 

Once inside, Draco closed the door, sealing it with a locking and silencing charm. When he turned around, Granger had already shed his jumper and let it fall to the floor. He crossed the room in two strides and pulled her face to his by the nape of her neck. As they kissed, her fingers delved into the waistband of his trousers and pushed them over his arse so that they pooled at his ankles. He stepped out of them, pushing her back toward the shower. 

He broke the kiss to turn the water on. Checking the temperature with his hand, he glanced back at Granger, wondering if he would ever tire of seeing her naked body. 

When the water was quite warm, he stepped inside, offering her a hand as she joined him. She stepped under the water and Draco watched as it cascaded down her head and shoulders, making her breasts glisten. She arched her back to run her hands over her head, tilting back slightly to wet her hair. As her hair took in the water, it straightened out somewhat, falling nearly to her arse in dark brown waves. 

Draco stepped forward, needing to touch her. He kissed her and let his hands roam her slick body. He palmed her breasts and tweaked her nipples, loving how her moans echoed off the tiles. Her warm hand closed around his cock, stroking him and squeezing him just right. 

“Turn around,” he urged against her lips. 

She pulled back, her eyes wide with pleasure and uncertainty. He kissed her once more to dispel any concerns she may have before she turned her back on him. 

Gently, Draco pushed her upper back forward and she caught herself against the shower wall on her palms. He ran his hands down her back and squeezed the globes of her arse before brushing his fingers across her slick folds. “Is this okay?” he asked breathily, pushing a finger into her warm sheath. 

“Yes,” she keened, arching her back and pushing her hips back until they collided with his erection. 

He took his cock in hand, teasing her entrance with the tip of it for a moment. She turned her head to look over her shoulder at him, her bottom lip drawn between her teeth. Lining himself up, he slowly pushed into her, letting his fingertips dig into her hips as they both moaned together. 

Granger arched her back more, leaning forward further so that her forearms were resting on the cold tile wall. 

Gripping her hips as leverage, Draco pulled back until he was nearly withdrawn before slamming back into her. 

A crackled cry escaped her, and just for a moment Draco worried that he’d gone too hard and hurt her. But then she rolled her hips against him and he felt a sudden rush of her slickness slide against his cock. He pulled back again and slammed into her even harder and faster. She keened, her fingers curling on the wall in ecstacy. 

Emboldened, he maintained a rough and quick pace. Each time, he was rewarded by a cry of pleasure from her parted lips. He reached his arms around her, one hand palming her breasts and pinching her nipples roughly, the other one reaching down to make tight circles against her swollen clit. 

His hips snapped against her, and he watched as her arse jiggled with each thrust. Her breasts were bouncing in his hand, and her back was arched so much that he could practically see the tips of her lashes. 

It was too much, and he knew he was done for when she turned her head again, her eyes catching his. Her cunt clenched around him and a moment later she screamed, her head dropping down against her arms as her legs shook. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, coming a moment later, more forcefully than he should be able considering the amount of times he'd already come today. 

His legs felt like they’d been hit by a jelly-legs jinx, but he knew he couldn’t let her fall. She’d slumped forward, and his arms around her seemed to be the only thing keeping her upright. 

With a shiver, he withdrew from her and helped her stand up and turn to face him. He kissed her languidly, unable to tell her with words just how fucking amazing that had been… how fucking amazing _she_ was. 

She was nearly limp in his arms, her wet skin hot against his as they snogged under the shower spray. 

“We should probably actually clean up and get downstairs,” she breathed. 

Draco laughed and kissed her again. “Probably. Hand me your shampoo,” he said. “I want to wash your hair.” Blushing beautifully, Granger did as she was told. 

As Draco lathered the shampoo into her hair, his fingers kept getting caught in her curls. As he pulled them out, she grimaced. “I’m sorry,” Draco chuckled. “This is much harder than I thought it would be.” 

She just laughed and pushed sudsy curls away from her eyes. “It’s okay. I know how difficult my hair can be.” 

He tried again, but probably only managed to tangle her hair horribly. “Damn. I was trying to be all romantic and sexy.” 

Granger just grinned and pulled his hands away from her head. “Don’t worry about it. There’s nothing romantic or sexy about my hair. But the gesture was both.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss him reassuringly before finishing her hair on her own. 

Draco stepped under the shower spray to wash his own hair while she lathered. He had finished rinsing his head before she had worked the shampoo over every bit of her scalp and he was glad that he didn’t have nearly as much hair as she did. The only person he could think of who might have more hair than she did was Hagrid. Shivering at the thought, he stepped aside so that she could rinse her hair and grabbed hold of a washcloth and body soap, lathering it up. Reaching out, he began to wash her body, taking extra time to circle her sensitive areas. 

She closed her eyes and let out a little moan as he kneaded her soapy breasts. “We don’t have time to fuck again,” she breathed. 

“I know.” He stepped into her, wrapping his arms around her to squeeze her arse. “But when we’re in the meeting I want you to be thinking about me. I want you to think about what I’m going to do to you later. I want you to imagine me touching you—kissing you here.” He dropped a kiss to her neck just below her ear. “And here.” He pinched one of her nipples, just hard enough to make her squeak. “And here.” He squeezed her arse. “And here.” His fingers travelled down, teasing her clit and stroking her still-slick folds. 

She whimpered as he pulled away. Fighting his own erection, Draco forced himself not to touch her again as he finished washing. 

“I’ve just realized,” he said as they turned off the water and grabbed fresh towels. “You lost most of your things in the fire. Where have you been getting these clothes?” 

“I still had a few things in my bag that should tide me over for a few days. Ginny also offered to let me borrow a few things. I’ll have to alter them slightly, but that should be easy enough. Hopefully that will last me until I can get some new clothes.”

“I’m sorry.” Draco thought about how he would feel if he’d lost everything he had. With a jolt, he realized that he had come very close. Dolohov had set fire to the Manor in a fit of rage. All Draco had left now was what had been brought with him. 

Granger shrugged. “It’s only stuff. Nothing that can’t be replaced.” She wrapped her towel around her body tightly. “I’m most upset about the books. Luckily most of my favorites were already in my bag, which I managed to get out with the antidotes.” 

“If there’s anything I can do…” he trailed off, not sure what he could possibly do. 

Granger grinned at him, teasing. “I’ll let you know if I need to borrow any of your clothes. I’m sure they’ll look very inconspicuous on me.” 

She turned to the door but paused. “Could you do your clever little spell to see if the coast is clear?” 

He did, and then the two of them tiptoed back to his room to get dressed. 

“I’ll go down first,” Granger said as she straightened out her shirt. “Don’t wait too long. The meeting starts in ten minutes.” She turned for the door, but he caught her arm and pulled her back. 

He kissed her hard and felt her melt against him before he released her. She stumbled back, her cheeks flushing as she turned and left the room. 

A few moments later, when Draco had successfully Occluded his erection away, he made his way downstairs. 

“Where have _you_ been all day?” Ginny asked as he walked through the living room. 

Draco ran a hand through his damp hair. “I’ve just been taking care of a few things… you know, in my room.” 

They both made their way into the dining room together and settled in their usual seats. “Oh really?” Ginny smirked, her eyes falling upon Granger’s damp curls before flickering back to Draco. 

He felt himself flush and promptly cleared his throat and pretended to be distracted by a small rip in the upholstery of his arm chair. He could feel Ginny grinning at him, but refused to give himself and Granger away by looking back at her. 

Shacklebolt entered the dining room and swept up the aisle, his emerald robes billowing around him as he ordered everyone to quiet down. 

Draco did his best to focus as the Minister filled everyone in on the events at the Westenberg house the previous day. He stared at Shacklebolt, focusing on the words coming out of his mouth, but found that he wasn’t retaining anything. 

His eyes flickered to Granger. She was leaning forward on the dining table resting her cheek on her palm. Though her eyes were on the Minister, they were a bit glassy and the smile on her lips didn’t match the tone of the speech Kingsley was giving. Brown eyes drifted to him and she grinned before looking away, her cheeks flushing beautifully. 

Stifling a smile, Draco shifted in his chair and tried to refocus on Shacklebolt. Everything seemed a bit unimportant though. Why should he care about security and war when Granger had been so blissfully wrapped around him so recently? 

Ginny was staring at him. _Shit_. Had he missed something? He blinked. No one else was looking at him and Shacklebolt was still speaking. He looked at Ginny questioningly and she just smirked and looked away. 

Draco made more of an effort to focus after that, especially since Shacklebolt had moved on to safe house assignments for the week. 

To his extreme relief, both he and Granger would be staying at headquarters until at least the next meeting. Her eyes met his at this realization and she smiled. Draco would have preferred a safe house with a bit more privacy—further away from Shacklebolt’s chaperoning, but this was far better than being separated from her. 

After the meeting, the dining room emptied and Draco was eager to head back upstairs to his bedroom to snog Granger some more. 

“Wow,” Ginny teased as they stood in the living room before Draco could escape. “That was some serious _eye contact_.” 

“What are you talking about?” Draco sniffed, his eyes tracking Granger as she made her way into the kitchen. 

“Oh please. You’re crazy if you think you two were being subtle back there. I could practically _feel_ the sexual tension between you two.” 

Draco felt his face flush and he cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pockets. 

Ginny grinned and punched him on the arm playfully. “Come on. Let’s get some food.” 

“Not hungry.” At that moment, his stomach growled loudly. 

With a laugh, Ginny grabbed his wrist. “Yeah, right. Come on.” 

Draco reluctantly followed Ginny into the kitchen where a small group was gathering to eat some roast chicken and vegetables. 

Granger sat down at the table. Potter moved to sit next to her, but Ginny cleared her throat loudly and gave him a pointed look. Potter’s stare back at his girlfriend was questioning and Draco watched in horror at the nonverbal moment they shared. At last, Potter moved around the table to sit across from Granger. 

Ginny shot Draco a pointed look and, feeling mortified, Draco sank into the chair next to Granger. 

“So,” Ginny began loudly as she skewered a roast potato with her fork. “How was everyone’s day?” 

“Fine,” Granger chirped. 

Ginny frowned. “Just _fine_?” 

“Ginny...” Potter raised his eyebrows in her direction. 

Granger flushed and bent over her chicken. 

“Did I miss something?” Dean said from next to Potter. 

“Oh, nothing.” Ginny’s grin was so big that Draco could practically see her molars. 

He wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. 

Draco was quiet through dinner, happy to listen to the others talk jovially. It felt so… absurdly _natural_ to sit there with these Gryffindors, Granger by his side smiling at some story Potter told. 

Though he hardly listened to the conversation, he felt an odd feeling of belonging, perhaps because everyone seemed so comfortable with him, or perhaps because Granger’s hand found its way to his knee under the table after she finished eating. 

He took a sip of his wine, forcing himself not to react as her fingers traced circles on his inner thigh. 

Granger was speaking to Dean, explaining the healing effects of Bubotuber Pus… or something of the sort. Draco was hardly listening. How could he when Granger’s hand was sneaking higher and higher up his leg? 

“Alright, mate?” Harry looked at him in concern from across the table, and Draco realized that he’d been staring at a singular spot on the table for several seconds. 

Shaking himself from his stupor, he nodded stiffly and cleared his throat. “Fine.” 

He picked up his glass again, taking a large gulp to hide his discomfort. His cock was straining against his trousers, and he began to worry about how he was going to discreetly leave the table with the sizable tent in the front of them. Wracking his brain, he tried to think of any spells that might help him conceal it. 

Granger’s hand reached higher, brushing over his bulge before giving it a firm squeeze. 

He choked, spluttering and gasping on his wine as everyone at the table turned to him in concern. 

“Merlin’s beard,” Ginny exclaimed. “Are you alright?” 

“Wrong pipe,” Draco wheezed. Luckily, the sudden lack of oxygen had successfully taken care of his erection, and Granger had withdrawn her hand. 

Chancing a glance at her, Draco saw her barely concealing a grin behind her hand. Her shoulders were shaking slightly. 

When everyone had finished eating and began to disperse, Draco made his way back to his bedroom, feeling Ginny’s gleeful eyes on his back as he closed the door. 

Perhaps this secrecy thing was a bit stupid, but Granger had specifically requested to be the one to tell everyone about their… _whatever_ this was. It would be a betrayal of her trust to be anything but discrete, and Draco knew better than to stride straight into her bedroom when people might see. 

He waited for the house to quiet down and then tiptoed from his room and slipped into hers. 

It seemed that Granger had been waiting for him. As soon as he closed the door she sealed and silenced it with a charm and then pulled her shirt over her head, approaching him in her jeans and bra to kiss him hard. 

“What took you so long?” she mumbled against his lips. 

“A thousand apologies.” He wrapped his arms around her, guiding them backwards until they tumbled onto the bed together. 

* * *

The following morning, Draco woke up with Granger pressed tightly in front of him. The gentle curve of her arse was pressed against his groin and his hand had found one of her breasts in the night. It would have been a perfectly comfortable position, if he hadn’t been choking on her hair. 

Trying his best not to disturb her, he pulled away slightly, using his free hand to lift her hair away from his face so that it was splayed up across the pillow instead. He pressed a kiss into her neck as soon as her hair was out of the way and closed his eyes again. 

He’d been planning on going back to sleep, but instead her arse moved, pressing back into his groin and moving in a little circle. The effect was immediate, and he felt his erection begin to grow. But had it been an involuntary movement? Perhaps she was still asleep and had just reacted to his kiss automatically. 

She moved her hips again, more deliberately this time, pressing against him more firmly. 

He squeezed her breast and bucked his hips forward against her. 

Turning her face, Granger’s eyes met his over her shoulder and she smiled at him. 

The woman was insatiable. 

Draco pinched her nipple as she rolled her arse against his erection. He kissed her neck as he let his hand drift down her body to tease over the curve of her backside before brushing up against her folds. She was already soaked for him, and he couldn’t help but delve two fingers into her wet heat. 

She moaned, arching her back to grant him easier access. 

He was hard, and she was wet. Draco was ready to sink into her when a pounding from the door made him pause. 

“Malfoy,” Potter’s voice made him grimace. “Are you in there?” 

Draco stilled, his face buried in the curve of Hermione’s neck and his cock waiting at the entrance of her cunt. Perhaps if they were very quiet, Potter would go away. 

“Malfoy, if you’re in there, come out. I need to talk to you.” 

Draco groaned. “Piss off, Potter!” 

“It’s an emergency.” 

Granger sighed and Draco grumbled as he rolled away from her and stood up, seeking his boxers in their piles of discarded clothing. 

As he pulled them on, Granger dragged the sheets up the bed to cover herself. 

Draco wrenched open the door. “Somebody better be dead, Potter.” 

Potter’s eyes widened as they darted between Draco’s semi-naked form and Granger sitting up in her bed, her hair wild, the sheets pulled up over her chest as her cheeks flushed. His mouth opened and closed for a moment, an odd strangled sound escaping his throat. 

“Well?” Draco snapped. 

Potter blinked and his head jerked as if snapping himself out of his stupor. His worried eyes connected with Draco’s.

“It’s your father.” Draco felt the floor fall out from beneath him as Potter pressed on. “He’s been murdered.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Monday  
> Next chapter posts: July 20th
> 
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	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left me comments! I'm really bad about replying, but please know that I truly do read them all and love them so much! 
> 
> AlphaBet love to BiscuitsForPotter and DisenchantedGlow as always!

Draco had only been to Azkaban prison once previously. The summer before his sixth year began with him and his mother trekking through the dark corridors to visit his father in a cramped visitation room just a month after he’d been arrested. Draco supposed that he should have gone back after Lucius had been arrested following the Battle of Hogwarts, but he hadn’t. Dolohov had established himself as High Minister and had taken Draco under his wing so quickly he hadn't had time to think of anything except his training. Once his time was his own again, it had been too dangerous for a known Death Eater to travel to such high-risk areas. 

“This way, Mr. Malfoy.” The guard was a surly, wiry man, pale from lack of sunlight and sunken eyes weary from continued Dementor exposure. A small Patronus of a hedgehog trailed after the man as he led Draco and Dawlish, who had agreed to accompany him, through the labyrinth of corridors. 

Draco’s footsteps echoed loudly against the stone floors. On both sides of him, he could see prisoners in their cells, some peeking out at him from behind their bars, others huddled in the far corners, clutching their heads and rocking. Draco fought to keep his gaze forward, trying not to think of how easily he could end up being one of these wretched souls. Trying not to think of his father in his last days. 

He wondered how much less hospitable this visit would have been if Shacklebolt had not owled ahead speaking on Draco’s behalf and if Dawlish hadn’t been sent with him. This guard certainly seemed to dislike Draco to some degree. He kept sending scowls over his shoulder, as if he expected Draco to hex him while his back was turned. 

At last, the guard arrived at the end of the corridor and swung open a heavy looking metal door. Draco stepped inside behind the guard and felt the air rush from his lungs. 

Before them was a metal table under a hovering orb of bright light. On the table was the obvious shape of a body, tall and thin, underneath a white sheet. 

Draco’s mouth went dry and he swallowed thickly. He had been told that he would have to identify the body, but now that he was here, he wasn’t sure what would happen when the guard pulled back that sheet. That was his father on that table. Would he cry? Scream? Laugh? What was the appropriate response to seeing one’s father’s corpse? 

Draco had had a tumultuous relationship with his father. Lucius had been stern, cold, even cruel at times. He’d raised Draco to follow in his own proud footsteps, and that path had set Draco to become what he was now: a killer. 

And yet, this was his father. He had always cared for Draco. He hadn’t been the most nurturing parent, but Draco had never felt unloved. Lucius had always been willing to go above and beyond to make sure Draco and his mother were well cared for and had everything they could possibly need. 

The guard moved around the table and looked at Draco, eyes questioning if he was ready. Draco nodded, and the guard pulled the sheet down to reveal Lucius’ face. 

Throat tight, Draco stepped closer. There was no question, this was Lucius Malfoy. He nodded at the guard. 

“I’ll give you a moment,” the guard offered, leaving the sheet folded down and moving back toward the door. “Knock when you’re ready.” 

The door closed, and Draco was left alone with his father. 

Draco wished he knew how to properly grieve for the man who had given him everything, yet left him with so much damage. 

He looked down at his father, wondering if he’d truly diminished so much in the two years since Draco had last seen him. He seemed small, almost… frail. Draco had always been so intimidated by his father growing up. Lucius had always seemed almost god-like, lording over the Manor and everyone and everything in it with such firm authority. But looking at him now Draco couldn’t imagine why he’d ever thought of his father like that. Perhaps Lucius had been nothing more than his self-righteous demeanor. Stripped of that, he was far more… human. 

The bright light was glinting off of Lucius’ thinning platinum hair. He was pale, which was to be expected, but Draco couldn’t get over the shock of seeing just how _grey_ he looked. Azkaban had changed his father the first time he’d been imprisoned. It seemed that it had been even worse the second time around.

A cold knife of guilt twisted in Draco’s gut. He should have visited. Early after the Battle of Hogwarts when he hadn’t been a wanted man. He should have fought through an uncomfortable conversation with his father if for no other reason than to assure Lucius that he cared. 

He stepped closer and placed his hand gently over his father’s heart. “Goodbye, father.” 

With a heaviness in his chest, he replaced the sheet over Lucius's face and turned away to knock on the door. 

The guard pushed the door open and jerked his head impatiently. “Very well, Mr. Malfoy. We have some things to discuss in the main office. Personal effects to be released and a few forms to sign.” 

“Fine,” Draco bit out with a nod. 

He followed the guard down a short corridor off to the right where there were no cells. He guessed that these were offices and quarters for the guards and staff on call. At the end of this corridor was a spacious office with perhaps the largest window in the entire prison. It was heavily barred, but still large enough to let in some light from outside. 

There was another guard here, his robes a sleek black rather than grey like the other man’s. He stood from a rather worn looking desk and stepped around to shake Draco’s hand. 

“Mr. Malfoy, I’m Earnest Wilson. I’m the governor here. Please have a seat.” The man gestured to a pair of chairs across from the desk and Draco and Dawlish sank into them. 

“First, I would like to offer my deepest condolences to you,” Wilson said, sinking into his chair. 

Draco cleared his throat. “Thank you.” 

“All of your father’s personal effects have been relinquished to you. We tried to contact your mother, but we weren’t able to—” 

“She’s abroad,” Draco clipped. 

Wilson shut his mouth and nodded. “Very well. We will release the items left to her into your care as well. Your father’s will was clear that in the event one of you was not available, the other was permitted to accept what remained.” 

Draco nodded. Lucius had perhaps expected that either he or his mother would die prematurely. Or perhaps he knew that Narcissa was likely to flee the country. At any rate, Draco was grateful that his mother would not have to come here to retrieve anything when— _if_ —she returned. 

The guard produced a box which contained only a few items. The robes Lucius had arrived in—the same ones he would have worn upon his release; his wand, carefully concealed within his walking stick; two letters, one addressed to his mother and one to him. 

Draco’s fingers twitched, longing to read the letter his father had written him. But there would be time for that later. 

“How did this happen?” Draco asked sternly. 

Wilson shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “The investigation is still underway. Our preliminary investigation has found evidence of a break in. It seems that someone gained access to the prison and was able to find your father’s cell. He was killed by the Killing Curse. It would have been instant.” 

He said this as if it should have comforted Draco to know that his father felt nothing, but Draco didn’t feel comforted at all. He just felt numb. 

“We will do everything in our power to ensure that this never happens again. I know that is of little comfort to you, but please know we are working closely with the Auror Department to try and find the perpetrators.” He gestured to Dawlish, who nodded but said nothing. 

Draco grunted. As far as he was concerned, there was no need for an investigation. He knew exactly what had happened. This had been payback for Draco killing those five Death Eaters at their safe house. 

He’d killed some of their own, so they had murdered his father. 

“The guard mentioned paperwork,” Draco pressed.

He had to sign a few documents to verify that he had identified the body and to consent to a release of the remains to a mortuary. Afterwards, Dawlish escorted Draco to the ministry, where he had a whole slew of papers to sign. Most of these pertained to Lucius’ will and estate. With his mother unreachable, Draco was the only one left to handle these affairs. 

He mechanically signed everything he needed to, still feeling hollow. By the time he returned to headquarters, it was well after dinner time. Dawlish, who had been very quiet all day, clapped Draco on the shoulder and offered to heat some food up for him. 

Draco declined, not feeling hungry in the slightest. Adjusting the box of Lucius’ personal effects under his arm, he climbed the stairs and closed himself in his bedroom. 

At long last, Draco picked up the letter and held it in his hands. 

Did he really want to read it? These were surely the last words his father would ever share with him. It seemed so… _final._

No, he had to read it. He owed his father that much. Hands trembling slightly, he opened the envelope and pulled the single parchment from within. 

  
  


_Draco,_

_With my death, the head of household title now passes to you. You are Lord Malfoy. It is up to you to continue to bring honor and pride to the family name. Remember our traditions and make your decisions accordingly._

_It is your duty to continue the Malfoy line as it has existed for centuries. Future descendants will look to your leadership and guidance. Never forget there is great pride and responsibility in being a Malfoy._

_Look after your mother. She is a strong woman, but she will need you now more than ever._

_You have been strong and upheld the Malfoy name with honor. I know you will continue to do the same._

_Your Father,_

_Lucius Abraxus Malfoy_

  
  


The Malfoy name… What had Draco really brought the Malfoy name? Death and darkness mostly. Shame, as he saw it, rather than pride. Would his father have been proud if he’d known what Draco had become? Would he have delighted in the deaths of all of the men who betrayed or defied Dolohov? Would he have spat in Draco’s face at his failure to murder Granger? 

With a sigh, Draco dropped the letter back into the box and slid it under his bed. 

He laid down on the mattress with a sigh and stared up at the ceiling. Mere hours ago, he’d been blissfully happy, holding Granger in his arms. But now… now his world seemed much darker. 

They’d killed his father because of his actions. His father’s death was his own fault, really. If not for him, Lucius would have completed his ten year sentence and been released. Alive, wealthy, and perfectly happy to be reunited with his wife. But because of Draco’s impulsivity, he was dead. 

Draco’s stomach twisted. If they’d been able to break into Azkaban, there was no limit to what they were capable of. The safe houses were being compromised, and Draco had no idea how they were managing to find them. 

Granger was already being targeted because of her brilliant mind. Draco could only imagine how badly Dolohov would want her dead if he found out that she and Draco were now intimately involved. 

They would have to keep it very quiet. He wondered if he should obliviate Potter and Ginny. If word got out, and if there really was a spy, Granger would be in even more danger. 

He shook his head. One problem at a time. Lucius was dead. 

Draco wasn’t sure what he felt. Guilt, yes. Sadness? He couldn’t be sure about sadness. How could he begin to grieve Lucius when he’d been so distant from him when he’d been alive? Their relationship had always been strained. Narcissa had always been the loving one, the nurturing one. He could always turn to his mother for compassion. When he’d been growing up, every bit of good news he got, he’d always wanted to share it with his mother first. 

His father had been more stoic, offering stern encouragement with all of Draco’s accomplishments. Nothing was ever good enough. He could always do better, get higher marks, fly with more skill, achieve _more_. It had been motivating, but if he just wanted to feel good about what he’d done, Draco would never turn to Lucius. 

He felt… _angry_. Angry that he’d never have a better relationship with his father. Angry that Lucius had always been so cold and distant when Draco had been growing up. Angry that the Death Eaters had snuffed out his life and left Draco with this swirling emptiness. 

Draco sat up. It was late. His bedside clock told him that it was nearly midnight. He didn’t want to go to Granger like this and put the burden of his troubles on her shoulders, but he couldn’t bear to be alone. 

Quiet as he could, he tiptoed out of his room and down the corridor to her quarters. He didn’t bother to knock. He slipped inside and locked and silenced the room behind him. It was dark save for the pale moonlight streaming in through the window. Granger lay on her side with her back to him, her ribs expanding and contracting with each breath. 

As he reached her bed, Granger stirred. She lifted her head and turned to look at him, blinking sleepily. 

“Draco?” she mumbled. 

Saying nothing, Draco slipped into bed behind her and wrapped his arms around her torso. 

She twisted in his grasp, her eyes wide and filled with concern. “I’m so sorry about your father,” she breathed. 

Draco’s heart clenched. She really was good, wasn’t she? Too good, in fact. To express condolences for a man who had hated her and her kind, who wouldn’t have lost a wink of sleep if she’d died in his drawing room two years ago. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, splaying one of her hands out on his chest. 

He swallowed, placing his hand over hers. Her eyes were shining in the moonlight and he wondered what he could say to put her mind at ease. In truth he wasn’t alright. And he had no idea what he needed in order to feel alright again. 

Leaning forward, he captured her lips in a fierce kiss. She returned it immediately, opening herself up without hesitation to whatever he might need in the wake of his loss. 

She was too good… too self-sacrificing. And Draco was just broken enough to take advantage. 

He shifted his weight on top of her as his tongue delved into her mouth desperately. Small hands closed around his biceps as she returned the kiss enthusiastically. 

Frantically, Draco fumbled with the button of his trousers, pushing them down as she set to work on the buttons of his shirt. His cock was already hardening, desperate for the comfort of her body. Her pajama shorts were easy to drag down her thighs along with her knickers. She sat up slightly to rip her tank top over her head and toss it to the floor. 

Draco discarded his pants and stroked his cock vigorously a few times. Granger leaned back on the bed, spreading her legs invitingly. 

Merlin, she was _too good_. He didn’t deserve her. Didn’t deserve to have her look at him adoringly as he made love to her. 

Wordlessly, he pushed her body so that she rolled over onto her stomach. He pulled her hips so that they lifted up off the bed. He used his palms to spread her arse cheeks, dipping his fingers into her as she moaned and arched her back. She was soaked, already rolling her hips wantonly. 

He gripped his cock, teasing her entrance for a moment before thrusting into her hard. She gasped as he fucked her without restraint. His hands found her waist and pulled her back to meet him roughly with each snap of his hips. 

Crying out, Granger’s hands reached forward, gripping the sheets in fistfulls. He reached forward with one hand, gathering up her thick curls and pulling them back. A strangled scream left her lips as her back arched. He slammed into her hard and fast, his thoughts fuzzy and far away. 

What would Lucius think of his son’s new paramour? Not a prim and proper pureblood witch to demurely lie back and think of England, but a brazen muggleborn who was desperately dancing her fingers over her clit to seek her own release. An amazing, gifted witch who accepted every bit of him, countless flaws and all. 

And he was fucking her like a beast. Like she was something to be dominated. Like she was a… a _Mudblood_. 

Something within Draco fractured as Granger cried out her release, quivering around him and collapsing forward onto her elbows in bliss. 

Draco stilled, watching Granger come apart. His incredible witch, letting herself be used for his sick comfort. Heart plummeting, he pulled out of her and gently rolled her over onto her back. 

She was smiling, and she spread her legs for him and pulled him closer by the hips. Her cunt was still fluttering as he sank back into her, moving much more slowly. 

“I’m sorry,” he intoned miserably, leaning forward over her to kiss her tenderly. “I’m so sorry.” 

What he was sorry for, he wasn’t entirely sure, but he thrust into her slowly, like an apology. 

Granger went still at his words, and then her hands moved to his face, pulling him back so that her eyes could take him in. Whatever she saw, she seemed to understand, for her thumb began to draw a soothing path over his cheek. 

Her lips parted, and he became aware that there was moisture under her thumb. He was _crying_. A few tears escaped his eyes and she brushed them away gently, without judgement. 

Dipping his head to the crook of her neck, he thrust into her a bit harder while maintaining his slow, languid pace. 

She was speaking as her fingers danced over the back of his neck and shoulders. “It’s alright. It’s alright.” 

But it wasn’t. 

He didn’t know what to say to her to make up for everything. For the rough way he’d just taken her. For the sins of his father. For the way he’d treated her growing up. For the obstacles she had faced and would continue to face because of who she was. 

He came with a grunt against her neck, stilling for a moment before he slipped from inside of her and rolled onto his back. 

Granger turned her head to look at him, her eyes full of concern. She rolled, placing one hand over his heart tenderly and propping her head up on her other hand. 

Draco closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, hard enough to see stars. 

“What are you sorry for?” she queried gently. 

He shook his head, not even able to begin to know how to answer her question. His father would never have accepted the witch next to him. But that mattered very little now. His father was dead. And with him he had taken the last piece that had tethered Draco to a life of upholding the family’s pureblood honor. 

He thought of everything Lucius would miss. The end of the war. Meeting Draco’s future bride, the birth of his first grandchild. 

With a jolt, Draco realized that he was imagining a future that may never exist. This war had taken so much from him—from _everyone_ —and he had no doubt that it would continue to take until it was over or until Draco had nothing left to lose. 

He dropped his hands and turned to look at her. His heart was pounding in his chest, his blood rushing in his ears. Though he knew he didn’t deserve it, he knew he wanted a future… a future with _her._ Whether it was a day or a lifetime. He would take it. For as long as she was willing. 

“I love you.” 

The words had left his lips before he could stop them. But although he hadn’t planned to say them, they were no less true. 

Granger blinked, her lips falling open in shock at his sudden admission. 

“I’m in love with you,” he reiterated. 

She stared at him saying nothing, and he just knew he’d scared her off. It was too soon. _Much_ too soon to say it. 

“Draco…” She trailed off, biting her lip for a moment. “I don’t want you to say that unless you mean it. You’ve had a very difficult day and I can understand why you need to feel some comfort and connection to someone else, but—” 

“That’s not why I said it,” Draco insisted.

He grimaced at the look of uncertainty and pity on her face. “Fuck.” He gasped in air and covered his face again. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s… It’s too soon. _Shit._ I’ve fucked it all up now, haven’t I?” 

He rolled onto his side and placed his hand on her cheek gently. “I’m sorry.” 

She closed her eyes and tilted her head into his palm. “Did you mean it?” she breathed, her voice wavering. 

“Yes.” There was no need for hesitation now. The words were out, and he felt freer than ever. 

Her eyes opened, tears glistening in honey as she took a shuddering breath. “I love you, too.” 

Draco blinked, his lips twitching up in a grin. “Really?” 

A little laugh bubbled over her lips as she nodded. “Yes. I love you, Draco.” 

Heart filled to bursting, Draco leaned forward and kissed her. He still didn’t know how it was possible for her to accept him, let alone _love_ him. But she _did_ love him. And in her arms, he felt like someone worth loving. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Monday  
> Next chapter posts July 27th
> 
> Leave me a comment if you're so inclined! Or follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/graceful-lioness) to leave me asks and see sneak peeks of upcoming chapters and other works!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I am terrible about replying to comments. Please don't think I'm ignoring you! I truly do read and appreciate each and every one of them. Thank you for leaving me love! 
> 
> AlphaBet appreciation to BiscuitsForPotter and DisenchantedGlow as always! They work so hard and help me get better every day.

It was a funny thing, being in love. Around them, the world seemed to crumble and darken with each passing day, but for Draco and Granger, things were light. They were happy. Blissfully so. Though they had both experienced terrible loss in the recent months, things didn’t seem so bad. They had each other, and that was enough to keep even the most crushing darkness at bay. 

At least for now. 

In the wake of his father’s death, Draco was placed on bereavement leave for the Order. He was given no missions as a courtesy so that he could grieve properly. 

Granger was also on leave due to her recent brush with death. While the Order investigated whether she was still a target, she was to remain on the sidelines. 

Two weeks. That’s how long both of them would be together at headquarters without official assignments.

While Draco was as happy as a niffler in gold to just spend his days focusing on his new relationship, Granger quickly went a little stir crazy being sidelined. Though she wasn’t allowed to go on any missions, that didn’t stop her from trying to do everything she could to help the Order from Headquarters. They spent their days brewing plenty of antidotes in case there was another attack. Although they hoped that it would be unnecessary, in the first week of their leave they managed to brew eighty portions.

While they enjoyed leisurely days at Headquarters, it seemed that the Order was busier than ever. With the recent attacks on safe houses, everyone was continuously on assignment. Granger seemed to be wracked with guilt about not being able to help. She was constantly asking other people what was happening on missions and what news they had of the war. Draco wondered if she’d allowed herself to have even a day to rest since the war began. He did his best to help her with the potions so that she felt like she was contributing to the war effort. 

There was very little opportunity for Granger to ask people about their missions though. With most of its typical occupants away, Headquarters was often quiet. The few others that were stationed there spent most of their down time sleeping or resting in their respective rooms. All of the news they received came from the weekly Order meetings and the occasional passing through of Potter or Ginny, who were always willing to share what they knew with Granger in private. 

Draco and Granger spent their nights wrapped around each other. Now that they had confessed their feelings, everything else they’d been holding back seemed to spill out. In the darkness, late at night after the house was quiet, they opened up to one another as they never had before. Draco talked about his father and the conflicting feelings surrounding his death. He talked about his mother and his hopes for her safety. 

Granger told him more about her own parents, too. About her fears of never seeing them again, or worse, seeing them but them not knowing her. To have them look at her as if looking at a stranger. 

With each passing day, Draco felt himself grow closer and closer to her. He hoped that they would continue to be stationed together, but was sure that the time was rapidly approaching that they would be separated at least for a brief time. 

Late in May, Bill burst into the kitchen during dinner to announce that Fleur had given birth. A girl named Victoire. Draco hoped that the name would be a good omen for their fate in the war. 

The occupants at headquarters had joined Bill in a toast before he bid them all goodbye with the promise of bringing the baby and Fleur to visit as soon as they were fit to travel. 

Granger was practically giddy all evening. Draco wondered once again if she ever wanted to have children. She’d evaded the question when it had come up that day in London all those months ago when he’d been on her protective detail, but perhaps she just hadn’t been comfortable enough to talk to him about it then. It _was_ rather personal, now that Draco thought about it. 

For the first time, maybe in his entire life, he thought about the possibility of having children. He had always assumed that if he ever became a father, it would be out of a sense of duty. A necessary action taken to secure the future of the Malfoy line. But now, with Granger, he could, for the first time, imagine a future built not on duty, but on love. 

But it was _much_ too soon to have those kinds of thoughts. 

The days passed in a haze of sex, cuddling, and laughter, and soon Draco and Granger had fallen into a peaceful routine. Draco found himself getting along with the other Order members more and more. He’d talked to most of them quite a bit, but now he found that he was genuinely enjoying their company. The days were warmer, which enabled him to play Quidditch with whoever was around. 

Granger always watched, just as she had during his probationary period. But now, instead of watching him suspiciously, she smiled at him, clapped for him when he scored, and bit her lip with a smirk when he lifted up the front of his t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow. 

Draco had come to know Granger in a way he had never known another person in his life. In their days together, he quickly noticed dozens of little details about her that he had never imagined. 

Granger loved to cuddle. Her favorite place to be was tucked into his side under his arm, her head resting on his chest with her arm draped over him. It seemed at times that she just couldn’t get close enough to him, always nestling closer and snaking a leg over his under the covers. 

She was also adorably affectionate. Her fingers never stopped roaming, tracing gentle patterns over his chest, arms, neck, or face. Wherever she could reach. When they were alone, she kissed him freely and often. Sometimes, as he held her, her face buried in his chest, her lips would dart out and press against his skin, as if it had just been a bit too long since she’d kissed him anywhere. 

Draco wondered if anyone else had ever seen this side of Granger before, if perhaps he knew her in a way that no one else did. With chagrin, he considered that Weasley may have been granted similar treatment at one time. But then again, Draco had never seen Granger look at Weasley the way she looked at him. Happy, relaxed, adoring. As if he could chase away all of her worries if he only held her in his arms. 

Despite his lingering grief over Pansy, William, and his father; the war raging on around them, and the occasional news of an unsuccessful Order mission, they were happy. It was easy to forget about all of that when Granger was pressed against him, her fingers and lips dancing lightly over his skin. 

That wasn’t to say that he had moved past everything he’d done, of course. He still woke gasping, seeing William’s dead eyes in his dreams. He still tossed and turned with thoughts of all the ways he’d disappointed his father. He still saw Pansy’s terrified face when she realized her wand wouldn’t work as he drifted off to sleep each night. 

But each time, Granger was there to soothe his mind and hold his hand as his racing heart returned to normal. Sometimes she asked what was bothering him, but she never pressed if he didn’t want to say. She merely sat next to him without judgement, listening when he needed, distracting him occasionally, or just being with him. 

Although Potter had discovered them together the morning Lucius had died, no one else in the Order seemed to know that Draco and Granger were seeing each other. Ginny certainly had her suspicions, but she was frequently stationed elsewhere or away on missions. But whenever she was around, she always seemed to be watching them, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of their hidden romance. 

Ginny’s chances to catch them rapidly decreased as their two weeks of leave came to an end. That didn’t stop her from trying, though. The table was more crowded than usual on the last night of leave, as the next day would bring another Order meeting. Several members returned to headquarters that night, not only including Ginny, but Potter and Dean as well. 

Ginny sat across from Draco, her eyes darting between him and Granger as she took small bites of her roasted vegetables. Potter and Dean were chatting about a recent mission they’d gone on together when the door opened with a _bang._

George entered the room carrying an armful of liquor bottles. “New stash, ladies and gents!” His boisterous voice cut across all other conversations. He placed the bottles on the table and then danced to the cabinets to fetch some glasses. Angelina followed after him with a smile and sat down at the end of the table. 

Lee trailed behind them laughing. “Don’t drink it all tonight, George. It’s supposed to last!” 

George placed eight glasses on the table and sat down on the other side of Granger. “It will. But I see no reason why we can’t partake in a little friendly drinking game to blow off some steam.” 

“Drinking game?” Granger raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips turned down. “What kind of drinking game?” 

George wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him playfully. “Nothing to worry about Hermione. Just a little game of ‘I Never.’”

Potter bristled. “Nothing confidential,” he ordered, reaching for a glass. “That means nothing that could reveal anything anyone has had to do on missions or might currently be working on.” 

“Very well.” George grinned. “Embarrassing personal stuff it is!” 

“I’m not sure I want to play,” Granger huffed, taking a bite of her chicken. 

“Nonsense! You might as well play while you’re eating. Scared we’ll learn too much about you?” Lee pulled up a chair to the head of the table between Draco and Ginny. 

“Fine.” Granger reached for a glass with a roll of her eyes. 

Feeling apprehensive, Draco joined the others in pouring himself a firewhisky. 

“We’ll start easy.” George tilted his head thoughtfully. “I never… got caught skipping class.” 

Lee took a swig of his drink. 

Everyone looked at Granger. It was her turn next. Draco watched as she bit the inside of her cheek for a moment and he wondered if she was as nervous as he was. How much was she willing to divulge to this little group? Still, she took long enough considering her contribution.

“I never cheated on an exam,” Granger said finally. George took a sip with a grin and the group turned to Draco. 

He cleared his throat, careful not to reveal too much. “I never kissed a Ravenclaw.” 

Potter, Ginny, Lee, and George all drank. 

“I never snogged someone on the night of the Yule Ball,” said Lee. 

At this, Draco had to drink, thinking miserably of Pansy. He was surprised to see Granger drink too, as well as Ginny, George, Angelina, and Dean. 

He looked at Granger in surprise. “Really?” 

She blushed and nodded. 

“You and Krum? I never would have thought.” Draco arched an eyebrow at her with a smirk. 

She just shrugged, grinning as she turned back to her glass. 

Ginny smirked at him wickedly at her turn, and Draco could practically see the wheels turning in her mind. He sent her a withering glare. 

“I never had a fuck buddy,” Ginny said with a smirk. 

“Thank Merlin,” George exasperated to the heavens. 

Draco internally sighed in relief. He would not have to drink for this one. He was surprised to see, however, that Granger was the only one who drank for that round. No one else seemed particularly shocked though. But George and Ginny both grimaced. 

“Ugh, I always forget about you and Ron.” Ginny made a fake vomiting noise. 

Granger flushed, but said nothing. 

Fuck buddies? Draco had always assumed that Granger and Weasley had been dating. Not that he really cared what their official distinction was, as long as it was over. 

It was Potter’s turn next and he turned mischievous green eyes onto George. “I never tried to flirt with McGonagall to get my grade boosted.”

“Oh, no fair!” George protested, but drank heartily as everyone laughed.

Dean had trouble thinking of one, but after a moment of silence, his eyes danced around the room and he shrugged. “I never shagged anyone at this table.” 

Ginny and Potter drank immediately, sharing grins. George and Angelina clinked their glasses together before taking healthy swigs. 

Draco glanced at Granger. Her face had gone white and her eyes darted to his as if questioning if they should be honest or not. Draco smirked at her and shrugged. Why not? 

With a smile and her cheeks flushing, Granger took a swig and Draco followed suit. 

Dean’s jaw dropped and George pounded his fist on the table in surprise. 

“I knew it!” Ginny exclaimed over the sound of Lee whooping. 

Granger buried her face in her hands and Draco was sure that his ears had gone scarlet with embarrassment. 

Potter seemed almost as uncomfortable as Draco was, his cheeks tinged pink. Draco stared at the table, pretending to be very interested in his vegetables as everyone began asking questions. 

“When did this start?” 

“You two?” 

“Really?” 

“How?” 

“Well, this has been fun,” Granger said loudly, cutting everyone off. “But I’m tired. I think I’ll head to bed.” 

“Yeah, I’ll _bet_ you’re tired!” George goaded. 

Hermione gave him the finger and then picked up her plate and took it to the sink. She turned back around, her honey eyes falling upon Draco with a mischievous glint. “Are you coming?” 

Draco felt his face flush hot and red as everyone at the table turned to look at him with their mouths agape. 

Stunned by her boldness, Draco cleared his throat. A slow smirk spread over his face as he rose from the table. “Not yet, Granger. But something tells me I will be soon enough.” 

Granger’s cheeks flushed crimson as George and Ginny burst into raucous laughter. 

Draco took his plate to the sink before turning to Granger. Her eyes were shining, and he couldn’t help himself from reaching out and drawing her face to meet his in a searing, open-mouthed kiss. 

The uproar from the table was a deafening array of wolf whistles, cheers, and laughs—and one miserable-sounding “Merlin’s pants” from Potter. 

Draco released her quickly, half expecting her to be angry by his obvious possessive claim on her. But she just smiled at him, one of her eyebrows twitching up in amusement. 

“Goodnight, everyone.” Her eyes barely left his as she offered a half-hearted wave to her friends at the table. And then she grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the kitchen, barely even giving him the chance to cast a wolfish grin at the people they left behind. 

* * *

Draco loved waking up next to Granger. He loved pulling her body close to his and curling around her warmth, nestling his face against her mane of curls to press kisses to the shell of her ear or her neck. 

The day after the drinking game was no different. Granger’s body was soft and warm as he pulled her flush against him. His hand snaked around her to cup her breast possessively, and she moaned sleepily, inching herself backwards into his chest. 

Her arse moved in a slow, deliberate circle, grinding against his cock in the most delicious way. Draco grinned and pulled her earlobe between his teeth. 

She was nearly always randy in the morning, and Draco was all too happy to oblige her desires. He kneaded her breast gently, brushing his thumb over her nipple and feeling it pebble under his touch. When he gave it a playful pinch, he was rewarded with another roll of her hips against his groin. 

He released her earlobe to drag his lips down the creamy column of her neck. “Didn’t get enough last night?” 

A breathy moan escaped her as his tongue darted out against the sensitive spot at the juncture of her shoulder. She tilted her head back to expose more of her neck to him and he took his time kissing, licking, and nipping at it as his fingers teased her nipples. 

“Draco…” His name sighed out like a prayer from her lips. It sent a jolt straight to his cock, and he couldn’t help bucking his hips against her arse. 

Granger turned her head to the side, capturing his lips with hers in a tender kiss. As his hand left her breasts and dragged down her stomach to dip between her legs, she sighed into his mouth. 

She was already wet for him, but he still couldn’t resist dipping his fingers into her folds and teasing her clit until she was writhing. Wanton gasps and mewls filled the bedroom as he rutted against her backside and made fast circles against her with his fingers. 

_“Please,”_ she moaned against his lips. 

Draco withdrew his hand and gripped his cock to guide it to her dripping core. As he pushed into her velvety heat, her mouth opened wide with a blissful sigh. Her back arched to grant him more depth. 

He saw stars, and allowed his hand to grip her hipbone as he drew back and pushed forward again. His thumb dug into her firm arse cheek as he set a steady pace. 

Granger cried out with each thrust, her hands reaching forward to grab the sheets in fistfuls. Her hips rolled back with each languid thrust. The sight of her shapely arse pushing back, her gorgeous cunt swallowing him up, and her head turning to look at him over her shoulder nearly had him losing control much too early. 

He dipped his head to press kisses against her shoulder as his hand returned to her breast. 

Her hand met his, gripping him tight as they connected over and over again. Turning her head further, she caught his lips with hers, kissing him through her mewling cries. 

“Fucking perfect,” he grunted as they broke their kiss, his fingers pinching her pert nipples in the way he knew she liked. 

He could feel her walls fluttering around him already. She was close. “Come on, Granger.” 

Her head tilted away from him, muffling her cries against the pillow. 

“Need to feel you come apart.”

Granger whimpered, her hips moving erratically against his. 

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his voice low and harsh in her ear as he thrust into her harder and faster. 

“Almost…” she breathed. It was almost a promise, a warning that he’d better hold on a minute longer. 

Merlin, she was sexy. How he’d never noticed until so recently seemed like insanity. Even her unmanageable curls turned him on now. He was nearly there, but he’d be damned if he came before she did. 

Changing his angle granted him new depth that made him groan. After only a few thrusts though, Granger stilled, her back curving into a graceful arc. A split second later, she was gasping as she found her release. Her legs quivered and her cunt clamped down on him. 

With a grunt, he came too, spilling inside of her and sinking his teeth into her shoulder. 

She stilled, her body slumping into the mattress with a contented sigh. Still buried inside of her, he peppered kisses along her neck, using one hand to turn her head to kiss her slowly. 

“I fucking love you,” he mumbled, his head still in the clouds. 

Granger laughed. “I fucking love you, too.” 

He slipped from inside of her and rolled onto his back. After Granger had performed her typical cleaning and contraceptive spells, she curled into his side. “Our two week leave ends today.” 

A cold stone of worry settled in Draco’s stomach. As if he needed reminding. After the meeting that afternoon, Kingsley would dole out safehouse assignments and it was likely that he and Granger would be separated. He couldn’t find words, so he just pulled her closer to his chest and kissed her forehead. “I know.” 

“We might be separated.” 

Draco nodded.

  
  
With a sigh, Granger rested her hand on his chest and draped one of her legs over his. 

Their relaxing vacation together would have to end some time, and if it could end today, Draco intended to spend every minute possible with her. 

* * *

The Order meeting that day brought news of a small attack on a Muggle home two days prior. One Muggle man had been killed, but the Order was able to apprehend Jugson after a brief struggle. Two Death Eaters escaped. Other than that small event, there was no news of Death Eater activities. Apparently, it had been an uncharacteristically calm fortnight. The Order had been quite busy guarding important Ministry personnel, securing houses, and seeking intel about possible Death Eater activities. But the other side hadn’t been as busy. At least not publicly. 

Draco didn’t know whether the lack of activity was a good sign or bad. His gut told him that the war was far from over. The Death Eaters had sustained losses in the past month, yes. But their numbers were still strong— _much_ too strong to be easing up or going into hiding. 

_No._ To Draco, this felt more like the calm before a storm. He could practically feel the wind picking up speed in the distance. Dark clouds loomed just over the horizon—just out of sight, swirling wind sending them towards the Order. 

After the meeting, each Order member took his or her turn to meet with Shacklebolt individually regarding their assignment for the week. When Draco had first joined the Order, these assignments were read aloud at the end of each meeting, but since they couldn’t be certain that they were completely secure, the list of assignments was now kept private. 

After receiving his assignment, Draco grabbed a sandwich from the kitchen and sat down in a quiet corner of the sitting room. He hoped that Granger would find him after speaking with Shacklebolt. 

He forced himself to eat, though each bite piled on top of the stone of worry in his stomach. Luckily, after only a few minutes, Granger entered the sitting room with a plate of food of her own and sat down next to him. 

Draco looked around the room for anyone who might overhear. Several Order members were walking by, but none seemed to pay them any mind. Most were lost to their own conversations or well out of ear shot. 

“Well?” He prompted quietly, leaning closer to her. 

Granger glanced over her shoulder before turning back to him, her honey eyes wide with concern. “Longbottom house.” 

The cold stone of worry in Draco’s stomach eased away, and a smile took over his face. “Me too.” 

Granger’s eyes lit up. “Really?” 

Draco nodded and leaned back in his chair to take another bit of his sandwich. 

Grinning, Granger tucked into her plate of food as well. 

Draco wouldn’t delude himself into believing that they would never be separated, but he took comfort in the fact that it wouldn’t happen this week. 

* * *

The Longbottom house was larger than the Westenberg house was, with the upstairs corridors branching off from the stairs in three directions. For such a large house, it was rather quiet with only four people stationed there. While Longbottom typically stayed in the house, he had been sent on a mission in Scotland with Lovegood and would be gone for the next few weeks. 

Cho was pleasant enough to be around, and although Seamus was typically in a foul mood, he seemed to be in better spirits these days. He didn’t go out of his way to talk with his housemates, but seemed willing to contribute to conversations when prompted. 

Although there were more than enough bedrooms for everyone, Draco and Granger were more than happy to claim a room together. Now that most of the Order seemed to know about them, they didn’t feel the need to hide their relationship away. 

It was another quiet week. None of them were called out on missions for the first four days. Draco and Cho spent their days flying in the garden. Granger read and brewed potions. Seamus cooked. He was a mediocre cook, but it was nice for the others to have a hot meal prepared for them. 

Over the past month, Draco and Granger had brewed well over a hundred antidotes. There were emergency stores at every Order property. The majority of them were kept at headquarters, but Shacklebolt had insisted on no less than twenty portions being kept at each safe house as well in the event of an attack. 

Several other security measures had also been put in place. Each Order member on sight had access to a Portkey in case they had to make a quick escape. And the ranking member would still be alerted if the first level of wards were breached. 

Draco made sure to keep his Portkey with him at all times, and placed it on his nightstand with his wand each night. If they were attacked, he didn’t want to be caught unprepared like he had been with Pansy. 

Granger seemed to be equally cautious. He would sometimes catch her brushing her fingers over the outline of the small, wrapped button in her jeans pocket during the day. They never discussed their concerns, but it was comforting to Draco that she was staying vigilant. 

On their fourth day at the Longbottom house, Cho—perhaps tired of Seamus’ cooking—prepared a rather bland stew for the residents. 

“Thanks for cooking, Cho,” Granger chirped as she and Draco sat down at the table. 

Cho waved a hand dismissively, and cast Granger a kind smile. “It’s no trouble. To be honest, I don’t think I could stomach another one of Seamus’ dry, overcooked chickens.” 

“I heard that.” Seamus scowled as he entered the room. 

Cho blushed. “Sorry, Seamus.” 

“I know I’m not a great cook. Just thought I’d do something helpful.” He helped himself to a bowl and sat down at the table. 

“We appreciate it, Seamus,” Granger piped up, a sheepish smile on her face.

Silence fell upon the table, tense and uncomfortable. They all ate quietly for several minutes before Seamus’ head popped up and he looked in Draco’s direction. “Hey, today’s your birthday, right?” 

Draco blinked. He had no idea what day it was. If _he_ had forgotten his own birthday, how could Seamus have remembered? And how did he even know when Draco’s birthday was to begin with? 

“It’s your birthday?” Granger’s eyes were wide upon him, seemingly horrified at having nearly missed acknowledging it. 

“Erm—Is today the fifth?” Draco asked. 

Cho nodded. 

Draco shrugged. “Then it’s my birthday.” 

Granger’s mouth fell open. “I—Well, we should celebrate!” 

“I think there’s a bottle of elf-made wine in the cupboard,” Cho suggested as Granger rose to her feet. “How did you know?” she asked Seamus. 

Seamus’ shoulders lifted a fraction. “I heard someone at Headquarters mention it.” 

Draco’s brow furrowed. Who would have known when his birthday was? Perhaps Shacklebolt had it in a personnel file. It made him feel odd to know that people had been discussing his birthday when he hadn’t even given it a single thought.

Granger tapped the bottle of wine with her wand and the cork lifted out with a _pop!_ She summoned four wine glasses to the table and filled them all. After handing out the glasses, she lifted hers and smiled. “To Draco.” 

“Cheers!” Cho lifted her glass with a grin. Draco and Seamus followed suit and they all drank together. 

Granger sat back down next to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Happy birthday, Draco.” 

He smiled and tapped his glass against hers. “Thank you.” 

“Did you really forget your birthday?” Cho asked, her brow furrowed skeptically. 

“I honestly didn’t have any idea what day it was. They all blur together after a while.” 

Granger nodded. “That’s true. Besides, it’s not like any of us can celebrate anything the way we’d like to these days.” 

Draco turned to Granger. “When’s your birthday?” 

“September nineteenth.” 

He furrowed his brow. “Surely we were together that day. You were my probationary mentor for weeks after I arrived.” 

Granger’s cheeks flushed slightly. “Erm… yeah. We were at the Westenberg house. I just didn’t want to turn it into a big thing.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Well, we weren’t exactly _friends_ back then. What would you have done differently?” 

Draco’s stomach dropped. She had a point. If she had told him it was her birthday back then, he likely would have scoffed and made her day even worse. “Sorry.” 

Granger just placed a gentle hand on his arm and offered him an understanding smile. “It’s okay.” 

Frowning, Draco looked around the table. He wondered if everyone’s last birthday had been just as disappointing as Granger’s. “Hey,” he began, raising his glass again, “Instead of making tonight about me, let’s drink to all our birthdays.” 

Cho grinned and lifted her glass against Draco’s. Seamus and Granger joined suit, and they all sipped their wine together. 

After dinner, Draco and Granger curled up on the couch in the sitting room, and Cho settled in the adjacent chair. Seamus retired early, but came back downstairs an hour later saying that he’d received a message from Shacklebolt. He was to return to Headquarters for the remainder of the week. 

They all bid him goodbye, and he hoisted his bag over his shoulder and disappeared through the Floo. 

As the sun set, Granger and Draco made their way back to their bedroom. Draco shut the door and Granger immediately locked and silenced the room with her wand. He turned to her, lifting an eyebrow playfully. 

She smirked at him, walking over and standing on tiptoe to kiss him lightly. “I know you said you wanted everyone to be celebrated today, but it is _your_ birthday. I have to give you a gift.” 

“Oh?” 

She nodded, and her hands ran down his chest to his belt. Biting her lip, she sank to her knees...

* * *

Draco woke with a start. It was still the middle of the night, judging by the darkness outside the window. And yet he was instantly alert. Something had startled him into consciousness. 

A cursory glance around the room told him that everything was fine. Granger was still curled into his side, sleeping peacefully. The door was closed, darkness beyond. It was _quiet._

There were no looming shadows, no ghouls lurking close to their bed. In fact, nothing seemed to be amiss at all. 

And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong. 

He couldn’t be sure what it was. A noise? A flash of light? Had it been a dream, or was something wrong? 

The pounding in his heart told him that he should be awake. That he should not dismiss this feeling and go back to sleep. 

“Granger,” he hissed, giving her a little shake. 

She stirred, protesting against being awoken with a little groan. “What?” 

“Wake up.” His tone was dark and stern. 

Granger lifted her head, blinking at him blearily in the pale moonlight. “What is it?” 

“I don’t know. Something’s wrong, I think.” 

Sitting up faster, Granger grabbed hold of her wand and lit it, casting the beam of light around the room. They were certainly alone. “What makes you think that?”  
  


Draco shook his head as he sat up. “I don’t know. Just a feeling. Get dressed. Fast as you can.” 

Granger looked skeptical, but stood up and pulled on her knickers, denims and a shirt. “Do you think the wards have been breached?” Her voice was low, barely a whisper. “Cho would have been alerted if they had.” 

That was true. Certainly Cho would have come to get them if she’d sensed the wards falling. But as Draco dressed, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were in grave danger. 

There was a creak beyond the door, far down the corridor toward the stairs. Both of their heads snapped in the direction of the sound. Granger’s eyes went wide. She turned back to Draco, who pressed one finger to his lips. 

They shouldn’t panic. Not yet. Perhaps Cho had gotten up to use the loo or to get a late night snack. 

“Put your wand out,” Draco ordered. 

Granger did, and they were cast back into darkness. 

Creeping closer to the door, Draco crouched down to stare at the gap at the bottom of the door. It was dark beyond the door, only the palest light from the window at the end of the corridor. He listened intently, but heard nothing but Granger’s and his own breathing. 

Granger placed a hand on his shoulder and he jumped in surprise. 

“I’m sure it’s just Cho. We can check if it will put you at ease.” 

Draco nodded and gripped his wand. She was probably right, of course, but he knew he had to check to be sure. 

Granger had her wand out as well, and stayed close behind him as he straightened up and placed his hand on the doorknob. He cast a quick spell to silence the hinges of the door. He glanced over his shoulder and pressed a finger to his lips again. She nodded, and he opened the door an inch. 

The corridor was dark. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he stepped forward, opening the door wider to peer out and glance around the corridor. There was no one there that he could see, so he stepped beyond the threshold, Granger just behind him. 

He made his way toward the stairs, keeping his footsteps quiet. He didn’t make it far, however, before his foot collided with something on the floor. 

His instincts knew what it was before he saw it, but he crouched down, murmuring, “ _Lumos minimus.”_

A dim light illuminated the end of his wand and he moved it toward the object. Granger gasped. 

Cho lay on the floor. Her eyes open and unseeing. 

Dead. 

His heart pounded in his chest. Someone was in the house with them. Someone had killed Cho. 

Granger made to lunge for Cho, certainly bent on saving her life, but Draco knew it was too late. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her back down the corridor and toward their bedroom. Once inside, he closed the door, and locked it with as many warding spells as he could perform quickly. 

Granger was breathing fast and loud behind him. He cast a muffling charm before turning back to face her. He pulled her toward the wall and had her crouch down where she would be initially out of sight if someone broke inside. 

“We have to go back out,” she whispered, her voice thin and high in panic. “We have to save her. 

“Granger, she’s _dead._ You can’t help.” His voice was even and firm. “We have to get out of here.” 

He crossed the room and grabbed hold of his wrapped Portkey. He opened the wrappings and looked at the crumpled Chocolate Frog card within. Then he moved to the other side of the bed where he knew Granger kept her Portkey at night. The wrapped button was in the top drawer of her nightstand. He picked it up and carried it over to her. “Let’s go.” 

He would wait for her to go first. He had to make sure she could get out. 

Granger unwrapped the button and let it fall into her hand. 

Nothing. 

Fear gripping him, he grabbed her hand and pushed his Portkey into it, hoping that it would take her away. She gasped, but it seemed that his act of valor was fruitless. 

His Portkey had not worked either. 

They were trapped. 

Granger eyed the Portkey with confusion and fear before she shoved it into her pocket, setting her jaw with determination. “I’ll send a Patronus,” she offered, lifting her wand. 

“ _Expecto Patronum.”_ A silver otter erupted from her wand and scurried in a quick circle before looking at its owner. Granger leaned in and whispered instructions to it before it scampered across the room. 

Draco had seen this done before. Typically, the Patronus would pass through the walls or windows of the home without issue and disappear to deliver its message. 

The otter, however, reached the wall and stopped, bumping into it over and over again as it looked for a way out. 

Somehow, the Death Eaters had ensured that their Portkeys would not work and that they couldn’t send messages for help. 

They would have to fight their way out. 

“Oh, Merlin,” Granger whimpered as her otter flickered and disappeared, its message for aid lost. 

Draco took a deep breath to steady himself. He would have to be calm and level headed if they stood a chance of surviving the night. 

“Granger, listen to me very carefully.” He knelt before her and grabbed hold of her arms. Fearful honey eyes met his and he knew she wasn’t ready for what was about to happen. What would _need_ to happen. 

“We are being hunted.” He hardly recognized his own voice. It was cold and mechanical, coming from a place that Dolohov had created and crafted. “We will need to fight our way out.” 

Panic was evident all over Granger’s face, her eyes wide and tearful, and her lip quivering. She wasn’t trained for this. 

_But he was._

He raised his wand. _“Homenum Revelio Charta.”_ He was grateful, once again, that he had never shared his invented spell with any of his fellow Death Eaters before he defected. A small rendering of the Longbottom house appeared and, to his horror, several blue dots were inside. He could see himself and Granger in one of the upper bedrooms, huddled close together. 

There were also six other dots in the home, all spread out at various points. None were coming down their corridor yet. There were two in the office downstairs, likely ransacking it for valuable information. One at each of the two entrances, and the last two dots slowly but steadily moving throughout the house. Those two were likely the assassins. One was on their level in the next corridor over, going from room to room in search of more targets. The other was coming up the stairs. 

It seemed they weren’t in much of a hurry. And why should they be? They’d sealed the exits and made sending for help impossible. As far as they were concerned, anyone inside the house was as good as dead. 

Draco wondered if they knew that _he_ was there. 

He let the map disappear and turned back to Granger. “Did you see that, Granger?” He had to be sure she knew the seriousness of their situation. “There are six of them. It’s important to me that you know what that means. If we hex any of them, the others will be alerted. They’re connected on tasks for safety reasons. It’s standard procedure for a mission like this for them. If one of them is stunned, the others will know and come to revive their partner. Do you understand?” 

Granger’s mind didn’t seem to process what he was saying. Her brows were furrowed and her hands were shaking. He would have to make it abundantly clear. 

“It means, we’re going to have to kill them, Granger.” 

Her eyes went wide. She had told him once that she had never killed anyone before. How could she have? She was too good. Too pure. She was a Healer, not a killer. Her soul was still intact—unmarred by the scars murder left behind. And while he didn’t doubt that she was powerful enough to do it if she needed to, he would do anything to keep her from damaging her beautiful soul with murder. 

“I—I—” She stammered, her voice trembling. “ _Cho_ … How can you be so calm?” 

“It’s the training,” he said coldly, turning away from her to reach for his rucksack. Within, he found the small leather carrier he needed and withdrew it. Inside were several knives and various Muggle weapons he’d been trained to use. He pulled them from their case and began placing them in his pockets and belt loops. 

“What are those for?” Granger asked, wide eyed. 

“Muggle weapons don’t alert the others to danger. We can go longer undetected this way. It’s also a good idea to have something on hand in case you’re disarmed.” 

“Do I need one?” 

His stomach twisted at the thought of her taking a life with her bare hands, but if he was killed and she was disarmed, he couldn’t leave her without a weapon. He handed her a sheathed knife, looking her sternly in the eye. “Go for the throat and strike hard and fast. Keep pushing even if you hit resistance. Don’t pull back until they stop struggling.”

Granger swallowed, looking more unsure of herself than ever. But she nodded and placed the sheath of the knife in the waistband of her trousers. 

Draco checked the map again. There were still no Death Eaters in their corridor. They had another moment. 

“Listen to me very closely,” he hissed, pulling her to her feet and looking her sternly in the eye. “They are here to kill us. They will not stop until the task is done. Stunning will do no good. It’s them, or it’s us. Do you understand me?” 

Granger nodded quickly, gripping her wand tightly. Her pupils were blown wide in terror. 

“I’m trained for this,” Draco continued. “I don’t want you to kill anyone unless you have no other choice. I’ll handle the dirty work, but—” He shook his head, pushing his fear aside. “But if I die, I want you to promise me that you won’t hesitate. Leave me behind. Kill the bastards and get yourself to safety.”

A tear rolled down Granger’s cheek. 

“Is that clear?” Draco squeezed her arm tightly. 

“Yes.” Her voice was no more than a whisper. 

“Do you promise?” 

Granger closed her eyes as more tears escaped, but nodded. “I promise.” 

Draco took her face in his hands and brushed her tears away with the pads of his thumbs. He leaned down, his forehead resting against hers. He wanted to tell her that he loved her one more time… but it felt too much like _goodbye_. And his voice wouldn’t form the words. 

“Are you ready?” His voice was softer now, less cold. 

She tilted her chin up, pressing her lips to his desperately. For one blissful moment, they melted into each other, saying what they couldn’t with words. 

With a strangled sob, she pulled back and took a shuddering breath. “I’m ready.” 

He checked the map one last time. There was a Death Eater at the end of their corridor. The blue dot floated into the first bedroom and Draco knew that this was their opportunity. With one final glance at Granger, he nodded and turned to the door. 

Granger gripped his arm tightly with one hand, and a knife in the other. Draco took a deep breath to steel himself, to prepare for what must come next. He opened the door, and they stepped out into the dark house. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Monday  
> Next chapter posts: August 3rd
> 
> Leave me a comment if you're so inclined!  
> Also follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/graceful-lioness) to leave me asks and see sneak peeks on upcoming chapters and new stories!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence.  
> Shout out to my boyfriend who helped me channel my inner John Wick for this one. 
> 
> AlphaBet love to BiscuitsForPotter and DisenchantedGlow

All Draco could hear as they made their way down the corridor was Granger’s laboured breathing and the occasional shuffle of her shoes against the floor. He grimaced. This would be much easier without her. She was too loud; she would give away their position. 

He had considered leaving her in their bedroom. Disillusioned and safe. But if they had an opportunity to escape the house without killing all six Death Eaters, he wanted to take it. And if he was killed, Granger needed to know immediately so that she could take action. Plus, he doubted that Granger would have been willing to sit on the sidelines. Stupid Gryffindors always needed to charge into battle. 

Her grip on his arm was tight, and he hoped that she knew that he would need both of his arms as soon as the Death Eater was within sight. If he could just get close enough, he would be able to use his knife and not alert the other Death Eaters, but if not… well, it would have to be the Killing Curse. And once that happened, their position would be compromised. 

The map had indicated that the Death Eater was in the last bedroom before the end of the corridor. As they approached, Draco slowed, his ears piqued for any sounds from within the room. 

Normally, by this point, he could hear enough from his prey to locate roughly where in the room he should strike, but with Granger behind him, breathing loudly and shuffling her feet anxiously, he was practically going in blind. 

A muffled clunk from within the room told Draco everything he needed to know. Something had been dropped on carpet, which likely meant that his target was near the bed on the area rug, rather than on the outskirts of the room where the floors were hardwood. 

There was always a possibility that the Death Eater knew they were coming—that he had heard Granger’s breathing and was trying to lure them into the room, actually lurking behind the door. Draco would prepare for that possibility. 

He shrugged slightly, hoping that Granger would realise that he needed her to release him. She did, leaving him free to step closer to the door. He turned, silently signaling to Granger that she should wait just inside while he dispatched the Death Eater. 

After a quick nod from Granger, Draco stepped into the room with his wand drawn. He pulled his knife out with his left hand. He’d learned in training how to wield a weapon with either hand. One could never be too well-armed. 

The Death Eater was rummaging through a nightstand with his back to the door. Draco stalked forward, adjusting his knife in his grip. He barely heard Granger tiptoe in behind him, her footsteps mercifully light. 

The figure by the bed picked up a book from the nightstand and took a moment to flip through its pages before tossing it onto the bed and returning to the drawer, this time pulling out a framed photo of a young couple and a baby boy. That too was tossed onto the bed. The Death Eater rocked back on one foot, like he was about to turn around, and that’s when Draco struck. 

Lunging forward, Draco used his wand hand to cover the man’s mouth, wrapping around him from behind and pulling him close. With his other hand, he plunged the knife into the side of the man’s neck and pushed it across to tear his jugular. 

Blood spurted out across the wall. The man gurgled and sputtered, struggling briefly against Draco’s grip before sinking to his knees. The wound gushed, blood pouring endlessly, dripping down the Death Eater’s front and onto the rug. 

It took only a few seconds before he fell limp in Draco’s arms. Dead. 

Draco slowly and silently lowered the man to the floor. He pulled off the man’s bloodsoaked mask. It was Avery. Moving on to Avery’s pockets, Draco withdrew a thin, cherry wood wand and a photograph. He lifted the photo to the light streaming in through the window and frowned. 

It was Granger. 

So the Death Eaters _were_ here for her. 

Draco glanced at Granger, who still stood rooted by the door. She looked… _terrified_. Her wide eyes were brimming with tears, her mouth slightly agape in obvious horror. 

His heart twisted, but he pushed the feeling aside. There would be time to comfort her later. For now, there were five more Death Eaters to take care of. 

Avery’s blood was hot and sticky on his hands. He quickly wiped them and the knife off on the fallen Death Eater’s robes. Draco stood and walked back over to Granger, pocketing Avery’s wand and the photo as he went. He cast a quick muffling charm on her shoes and checked the map. 

The other Death Eater was moving their way, but not in any apparent hurry. He watched the dot for a moment, trying to ascertain the man’s motives and possible route. Perhaps a distraction in the opposite direction would enable Draco to sneak up behind him like he’d done with Avery. He decided that was his best move before waving his wand and vanishing the map. 

He turned to Granger. “You need to breathe quieter,” he hissed.

Her mouth snapped shut and she nodded, swallowing. 

“We need a distraction. Something that will make noise in the other corridor.” 

Granger bit her lip for a moment before she reached into her pocket and withdrew her useless Portkey. She tapped it with her wand and transfigured it into a mouse. Another tap disillusioned it. She held the mouse tightly in her hands and jerked her head toward the door. 

Draco moved back to the door, peering into the corridor before nodding to her. 

Granger crouched down, murmuring to the mouse before releasing it from her hands. It scurried away, almost invisible against the hardwood floors. A moment later, there was a distant crash of broken glass. 

“What the—?” a gruff voice mumbled. Footsteps retreated, and Draco moved quickly out into the dark corridors. 

This Death Eater was larger, and his fat neck was harder to penetrate with the blade. But with just a moment of muffled struggling, Draco gave a mighty push, and the knife sank deep into the side of the man’s neck. He groaned and coughed, blood spraying from his neck and mouth with each dire beat of his heart. When the Death Eater continued to put up a fight, Draco just pushed harder. He clenched his jaw and pushed the blade across, severing the Death Eater’s windpipe with a sickening crunch. The man let out a horrible gurgling noise and then went limp in Draco’s arms. 

Draco struggled under the man’s weight, and staggered to the side, barely catching himself before falling. But his boot hit the ground with a thud and Granger gasped slightly. 

“What was that?” A harsh whispered voice drifted up the stairs. 

“Go check it out.” 

Granger’s eyes met his and they shared a moment of panic. With a wave of her wand, the corpse in Draco’s arms became feather light. She motioned to an open door and hurried to carry the man’s feet as they dragged the body inside and laid it down quietly. 

There was a trail of dark, shiny blood on the floor leading to their location, and they didn’t have time to vanish it before they heard footsteps at the top of the stairs. Draco pulled Granger quickly into the shadows behind the door and stood in front of her, blocking her with his body. 

From the crack in the door, he could see the dark form of a Death Eater come into view. The figure slipped slightly on the blood and lit his wand. Draco backed up slightly so that the light wouldn’t reach them. 

“Oi!” The Death Eater called out to his comrades and Draco grimaced. 

He had no other choice now. Alerts be damned, everyone knew now. Stepping from behind the door, he raised his wand. The Killing Curse coursed through him and out of his wand, enveloping the third Death Eater in a blaze of green before he crumpled to the ground. 

Quickly, Draco summoned the fallen Death Eaters’ wands before grabbing Granger’s arm and pulling her out of the bedroom and further down the corridor to a different bedroom. He cracked the door behind them, peering out through the sliver to see two Death Eaters arrive at the top of the stairs. 

Wands drawn, the two Death eaters observed their fallen friend before spreading out. One disappeared into the room Draco and Granger had just fled, and the other moved in their direction. 

“Malfoy,” the Death Eater taunted. “Come on out. We’re just here for your little girlfriend.”

Granger’s fingers curled around his bicep. 

“If you hand her over we might not even kill her. We can take her back to headquarters and let everyone have a little fun with your Mudblood whore.” 

Draco ground his teeth. They were trying to make him angry. To force him into making a foolish mistake that would get them both killed. 

It wouldn’t work. He was too well-trained to fall for such tactics. 

Pushing his feelings down, he adjusted his wand in his hand. The Death Eater was almost close enough to be a sure target. The man peered into the bedroom across the corridor, and Draco struck. Swinging open the door, he hit the man with the Killing Curse and watched him fall. 

He barely had time to shift his aim before the other Death Eater was emerging from the bedroom at the end of the corridor and training his wand on Draco. 

Another Killing Curse took care of him quickly, and Draco slipped back into the bedroom where Granger was and cast his map spell once more. 

The final Death Eater was moving quickly out of the downstairs office and up the stairs. The blue dot reached the top of the stairs and paused. 

“One more,” Draco murmured to Granger. Beside him, she let out a little sigh of relief. One seemed manageable—far more manageable than six at least. 

But Draco was tired. His magic felt strained. 

Shaking his head he forced the thoughts of fatigue aside. He could rest later. 

For now, he had to do whatever it took to get Granger out of here safely. And that Death Eater stood between them and their only possible exits. 

Draco hesitated. He couldn’t make a move without exposing himself to the Death Eater, and if the Death Eater tried to get closer, Draco would have a clear shot at him. They were at a standstill. 

Just as he was wondering how to lure the Death Eater closer, a jet of yellow light zipped through the crack in the door and into the room. Before Draco had the chance to react, it burst in a cloud of thick, grey smoke. 

Draco coughed, shielding his mouth and nose from the onslaught of smoke. 

“We have to move,” he grit out, grabbing Granger’s arm and dragging her through the open door. 

He fired two Killing Curses toward the stairs to cover their escape as they darted into the bedroom across the corridor. A disarming spell clipped his shoulder, and his wand soared from his hand, landing in the darkness far down the corridor. Draco didn’t hesitate though, he pushed Granger into the bedroom and drew one of the fallen Death Eater’s wands from his pocket. 

Waving the new wand, he closed the door to the bedroom they’d just come from to conceal the smoke within. Then he pushed Granger further into the room, hiding her in the shadows. 

This Death Eater was crafty. Craftier than the others had been. Draco closed the door to prevent more smoke bombs from entering. 

He conjured the map again. 

The Death Eater had moved into the adjacent bedroom. Likely checking his fallen allies for wands. Perhaps if Draco was quick, he would be able to sneak over and kill him. 

He turned to Granger. “Stay here.” 

“What? No! I’m not going to sit here like some damsel. We outnumber him. We can—” 

“It’s not your delicate female constitution I’m worrying about, Granger. Stay—” 

“He’s the last one, so we can just—”

“I don’t have time to argue, Granger. _Stay here._ ” He practically growled at her. His tone was dark and dangerous. 

Granger recoiled, nodding quickly. 

On his way to the door, he paused, turning back and pushed the spare Death Eater’s wand into her hand. “Remember what I told you before. _Don’t hesitate._ ” 

Draco left the bedroom, creeping down the corridor silently, wand held tight in his fist. The Death Eater had not emerged from the bedroom yet. It was possible that he was waiting for Draco, setting a trap. 

Draco would be ready. 

He paused at the entrance, just out of sight and listened. There was ragged breathing from just inside the door. 

Stepping over the body of an earlier kill, Draco leapt into the room and cast the Killing Curse. But this wand wasn’t as effective as his own, and the feeble curse was easily deflected. 

The Death Eater’s spell hit Draco square in the chest, blasting him back in a flash of white. He flew back—his wand flying across the room—and hit the bedroom wall hard, sliding down with a groan. 

Disoriented, Draco glanced up to see the Death Eater turning away. He was going after Granger.

Draco pushed himself to his feet, pulling his knife from its sheath, and staggered toward his enemy. 

Wandless, dazed, he launched himself at the Death Eater’s back, missing his neck but striking his shoulder blade instead. 

The Death Eater cried out in pain as they fell together. 

A clatter of wood, and the Death Eater’s wand skittered away, sliding across the floor and out of reach. Draco wrenched the knife from the man’s back as they struggled, attempting to bring it down again, but a fist collided with his head, and he fell flat to the floor, the knife slipping from his grasp. 

The Death Eater climbed over him, hands flying to Draco’s throat and squeezing. Gasping for air, Draco thrashed to get free, his blood pumping through his veins, fighting to keep him alive. His fingers stretched, reaching for the knife. He could feel the hilt graze his fingertips and scrambled to pull it into his palm. 

A burst of red, and the wall inches above the Death Eater’s head exploded. For just an instant, the man’s finger’s loosened on Draco’s neck as he flinched, looking around for the threat. Draco took the opportunity to find his grip on the hilt of his knife firmly. 

With a burst of adrenaline, he shot his arm upwards, plunging the knife into the throat of the man pinning him down. 

The man’s eyes went wide, he choked and spluttered, blood gurgling and pouring from his neck and onto Draco, coating him in it. His hands fell away from Draco’s throat, his eyes unfocused, and he slumped forward. 

With a mighty push, Draco heaved the man off of him and sat up gasping. His face was hot and wet with blood. It was in his eyes and mouth. He spat, hoping to rid himself of the metallic taste. 

He wrenched his knife from the Death Eater’s throat and turned. 

Granger stood at the end of the corridor, her wild hair bathed in pale light of early morning from the window behind her. Had she seen everything? Her eyes were wide and tear-filled as he pushed himself to his feet and made his way toward her. And though all the Death Eaters were dead, she gripped her wand tightly as if she were still in grave danger. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice trembling, almost fearful. Her eyes still hadn’t left the body of the last Death Eater. 

He nodded. “You?” 

“Yes,” she squeaked. 

One look at Granger, and it was clear that she was anything but. She swayed where she stood, ghostly white and shaking. And then, without warning, she lurched violently, heaving as she doubled over. Her sick splattered the hardwood floor and Draco stumbled back in surprise. 

Granger gasped and retched again. The smell of vomit mixed with the stench of blood and death in the air. 

Draco raised his hand and summoned his wand from somewhere in the darkness. Granger staggered sideways, slumping against the wall, choking and sobbing. Vanishing her sick, Draco hurried to her, brushing her hair away from her sweaty forehead and cupping her face in his hands. 

Tears streamed from her wide, panicked eyes. 

“It’s alright,” he assured her. She was hyperventilating, clawing at her chest and his arms as if to get away. “Breathe, Granger. Just breathe.” 

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. 

Draco grabbed hold of her hands and put them to his chest. “Feel me breathe. Breathe with me,” he urged, pulling air deep into his lungs. He placed his hands on her chest, feeling her heart thundering beneath his touch. 

Slowly, Granger’s breathing evened out. It shuddered on the way in, but she was able to blow it out with control. 

“Look at me,” he directed once she had calmed slightly. 

Her eyes opened, meeting his, pupils still blown wide by terror. 

“We have to go.” His tone was urgent again, but he did his best not to frighten her more. “They might send more. We have to tell the Order what’s happened.” 

Granger’s eyes shut again and she took two more deep breaths. Then she nodded and pushed herself upright, clenching her jaw in determination. 

“Let’s go,” he ordered, grabbing hold of her arm and guiding her down the corridor. 

Granger trembled as they stepped over the bodies on their way to the stairs. He could hear her laboured breath as they made their way to the ground level and toward the exit. It sounded restrained, like she was still trying to keep it quiet. 

“We’re safe, Granger,” he assured her as they walked out the back door and into the garden. His voice still sounded foreign to him, like someone else was speaking. 

As soon as they passed beyond the fence, Draco turned on the spot and disapparated, pulling Granger along with him. 

* * *

The clock struck five as Draco and Hermione entered Headquarters through the front door. The house was dark and quiet, just the slightest hint of daylight beginning to pour in through the windows. 

Granger attempted to cast a Patronus, murmuring something about waking Shacklebolt and Potter, but she didn’t seem to be able to conjure it. Her hands were still shaking and tears were rolling down her cheeks freely now as she muttered the spell over and over again. 

At last, a figure appeared at the top of the stairs. Shacklebolt was awake, staring at them in a deep purple dressing gown. 

“Longbottom House was attacked.” Draco hardly recognized the voice that came out of him. It sounded far away. A cold and distant announcement from someone else. 

Shacklebolt waved his wand, illuminating every light that Draco could see, before sweeping down the stairs to stand before them. He stared at the couple—Granger, so obviously shaken, and Draco, covered in blood. “Cho?”

The sound of doors creaking upstairs alerted Draco that they would soon have a much larger audience. “She’s dead.” 

Potter was coming down the stairs now, his eyes darting over Granger and widening. “Hermione, are you alright?” 

She nodded quickly, like she was afraid to admit that she _wasn’t_ alright. 

The Minister turned to Potter. “Assemble a team. We’ll need to clear the Longbottom house. And call everyone in from the other safe houses. Emergency meeting in two hours.” 

Potter checked his watch and then hurried back upstairs.

“What happened?” Shacklebolt clipped, ushering them into the office. “Do you need a Healer?” His eyes swept over Draco’s face again. 

“I don’t think so.” Draco shook his head. “It isn’t my blood.” 

The Minister sank into a chair and gestured for them to sit as well. “Start at the beginning.” 

Draco told Shacklebolt what had happened. From the broken Portkeys, to Granger’s inability to send a Patronus for help. He shared how he killed each Death Eater. 

The words left his mouth clinically, mechanically. Granger shivered next to him when he described how he’d needed to use knives to avoid the other Death Eaters being alerted. 

“And Hermione,” Shacklebolt said as Draco completed his story, “What did you do?” 

“I—” Her voice was small, tremulous. “I transfigured my broken Portkey into a mouse to help distract one of the Death Eaters. I helped Draco… helped him move one of the bodies…” She pulled her hand from Draco’s and wiped a tear away, leaving behind a smear of blood. 

With a ragged breath, she wiped at her cheek with the back of her hand to try to get the blood off, but her hands were too bloody. Shaking, she leaned forward and placed her elbows on her knees, clasping her hands together to stop their trembling. “When I heard Draco struggling with the last one, I went out to help. I tried to stun him, but they were too close together. The Death Eater was dead before I could get a clear shot.” 

She had seen everything. _Everything._ Every drop of blood and every flash of green. The glint off his blade as it sank into flesh. The moment when each of the Death Eaters had gone limp at his hand. 

“You didn’t kill any of the Death Eaters?” Shacklebolt confirmed, his eyebrows raised. 

Granger shook her head. “No.”

  
  
Shacklebolt’s eyes narrowed and shifted to Draco. “You mean to tell me, Mr. Malfoy, that you singlehandedly dispatched six highly trained Death Eaters by yourself?” 

Draco nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

Draco could practically see the thoughts brewing in the Minister’s mind, and he shifted under his gaze. The blood on his face was cold now, thick and sticky. He longed for a shower, to be able to wash away the events of the past few hours. He wanted to take Granger into a bedroom and hold her until he forgot how close he’d come to losing her yet again. 

There was a quick knock on the door, and they all turned to see Potter enter with George and Seamus. “Minister,” Potter said. “Should we go to the Longbottom house?” 

Shacklebolt stood. “We’ll need a larger team to be sure that more Death Eaters don’t show up. Set up wards as soon as you arrive and keep a lookout. All six Death Eaters that attacked the safe house are dead. Dolohov may send more men to retrieve the bodies. Please gather all personal effects and pertinent Order materials and return here as quickly as possible. And we’ll need to recover Ms. Chang’s remains.” 

Potter clenched his jaw and nodded. He and Shacklebolt exchanged a few more words, but Draco had stopped listening. His eyes were trained on Seamus. 

Seamus had been at the Longbottom house yesterday. He’d claimed to be called away and then the safe house had been attacked mere hours later. No one had witnessed the message from Headquarters, nor did they have any proof that he’d returned here immediately after leaving the Longbottom house. It seemed too… convenient, that he would just _happen_ to be called away before the attack. 

In a flash, Draco was on his feet, crossing the room and grabbing Seamus by the front of his robes. 

Ignoring the protests of the others in the room, Draco slammed Finnegan against the wall, pressing his wand under his chin menacingly. 

“Malfoy!” 

“Draco, what are you doing?” 

“Mr. Malfoy, release him immediately.”

Draco paid them no mind. He didn’t care that he had at least three wands trained on him. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Seamus protested, pushing against Draco with all his might. But Draco was much larger than he was. 

“It was _you_ , wasn’t it?” Draco growled, leaning his forearm heavily on Seamus’ chest. “You gave our location to the Death Eaters.” 

“Are you mental?” 

Draco seethed, pushing his wand harder against Seamus’ neck. “You fucking rat. You fucking _traitor._ ”

“Traitor? I have no idea what you’re talking about!” 

“So it’s just a fucking _coincidence_ that you happened to leave the Longbottom house just hours before we were attacked? You knew the attack was coming. You orchestrated the whole thing.” 

Seamus’ brows furrowed, his eyes flashing in terror. “What the fuck are you talking about? I wasn’t at the Longbottom house! I’ve been _here_ all week!” 

“You expect me to believe—”

“Malfoy,” Potter’s voice cut Draco off, sharp and firm. “He’s telling the truth. Seamus has been stationed here all week. Let him go.” 

Draco hesitated, but ultimately had no choice but to step back, letting Seamus slide to the floor gasping. 

“You fucking psycho!” Seamus spat at him. 

Draco turned to Shacklebolt, jabbing his wand in Finnegan’s direction. “He’s been acting strangely for _months._ Always in a foul mood and coming and going at odd hours. And now he supposedly can be in two places at once. You tell me what I’m supposed to believe.” 

Shacklebolt closed the door, locked it with a click. “Seamus has been dealing with family troubles for several months. His strange patterns have been caused by his need to go to the hospital.” 

“Hospital?” Draco frowned. 

“Yeah, to visit my sick mum, you nutter.” 

Shacklebolt paced across the room to stand behind his desk. “As for being in two places at once… You might be onto something, Mr. Malfoy. We all know that isn’t possible. I think we’ve finally figured out how our safe houses are being compromised.” 

There was a pause as the Minister’s words sank in. 

“We’ve been infiltrated,” Potter concluded, his eyes wide with shock. 

Everyone in the room looked around with narrowed eyes. It suddenly felt like anyone of them could be the spy. Like no one could be trusted. 

“But how?” George asked, his eyes fearful. 

“Polyjuice,” Granger piped up, speaking for the first time in several minutes. “Most likely.” 

Shacklebolt nodded. “That would be my assessment as well.” 

“Wait.” Potter held up a hand. His jaw clenched for a moment as his eyes flickered to each person in turn. “If this is true, then any of us could be an imposter. We should be sure before we discuss this further.” 

“How can we be sure?” George asked. 

“Simple questions. Something an imposter wouldn’t know. We’ll have to be careful though. We don’t know how long they’ve been among us. Best to ask things that happened before the Battle of Hogwarts.” Potter turned to Granger. “Hermione, when we were on the run together, I tried to cheer you up. How?” 

Granger looked at her friend, her lips twitching upward slightly. “You danced with me.” 

“Malfoy, on the Astronomy Tower, the night Dumbledore died. What were the last words he spoke to you before the other Death Eaters arrived?” 

Draco frowned, not at all happy to relive one of the worst nights of his young life. “He said, ‘Let me help you.’” 

Potter nodded and turned to George. “How did you get the money to start up Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes?” 

“You gave it to me. It was your entire Triwizard winnings.” 

“Good.” Potter turned to Seamus. “In our first year, you exploded a goblet at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. What were you trying to do?” 

Seamus grimaced. “Turn it to rum.” 

Potter turned to Shacklebolt last. “Minister, when the Ministry tried to arrest Dumbledore a few years ago, how did he escape custody?” 

“His phoenix helped him.” 

Potter glanced around at everyone in the room. “Then we are all who we say we are.” 

“Am I the only one who’s been polyjuiced?” Seamus asked. 

“Unlikely.” George paced back and forth, as though irritated. “It would have been rather obvious if you were always in two places. I think someone would have noticed before now. Right? I mean, this is our third safehouse attack in three months.” 

“So, someone has been posing as multiple people in the organization,” Potter agreed, tapping his wand against his palm thoughtfully. “I wonder how the imposter knew where everyone was stationed. They never ran into the person they were posing as. How did they manage it?”

“They must have gotten hold of the master list.” Shacklebolt gestured to the desk before him. “Which means that they have knowledge of how to break into wards.” 

Draco frowned. “No offense, Minister, but the wards on your offices are woefully easy to breach. How do you think I managed to get into your office at the Ministry last year?” 

Shacklebolt scowled at him. 

“That sounded like an admission of guilt,” Seamus grumbled. “He’s the only one who claims I was at the Longbottom house. _He’s_ the former Death Eater. _He_ knows how to break past wards. Maybe no one’s been posing as me. Maybe _he’s_ been the spy all along.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Draco growled, turning his blood soaked face in Seamus’ direction. “Why would I tell Death Eaters how to get into buildings where I was? They’ve tried to kill me more times than I can count, including tonight. I’d have to have a death wish to tell them where I was.” 

“Maybe you get a sick thrill out of it.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Fuck _you!”_

“Enough!” Shacklebolt shouted. “Hermione, was Seamus at Longbottom House yesterday?” 

“Yes, he was. Left with us from here early on Sunday morning with Cho. He claimed he got a message from you yesterday after dinner and then left.” 

“The day Westernberg House was attacked,” Potter prompted, “Did anything similar happen? Was someone there who left early?” 

Granger closed her eyes and thought for a moment. “Charlie was there.” 

“Charlie was here that week,” Draco said, recalling the odd conversation he’d shared with Charlie, George, and Lee. “But remember, he was acting strange. Said he didn’t remember something you said to him a few days earlier.” He pointed at George, who nodded. 

“Go get Charlie,” Shacklebolt ordered George. 

With a nod, George swept out of the room. 

With a chill, Draco recalled the day Pansy died. “Charlie was at the Farley house too. He said he had to leave early for a meeting with you, Minister.” 

Shacklebolt’s brow furrowed. “I did call him away for a meeting that day.” 

Potter frowned, pausing his pacing. “And no one else was at the Farley house that day?” 

“No.” Draco closed his eyes, thinking hard about the day that Pansy had died. He’d spent so long trying to forget the fine details, it pained him to recall them now, especially with his soul already so fragile. 

“No, I’m certain it was only the three of us that day.” 

“Perhaps they got to the Farley house another way,” Granger piped up, speaking for the first time in several minutes. 

Potter shook his head, beginning to pace the room. “One security leak is already remarkable, but two seems almost impossible.” 

“We thought a breach like this _was_ impossible. We can’t rule out any possibilities,” Shacklebolt insisted. 

“Wait…” Draco held up his hand. “I was wrong… Dean was with us. Came late the night before the attack and left before lunch the day of.” 

He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten. Draco and Dean had talked a lot that day—more than he had ever talked to Dean before or since. It hadn’t seemed so strange at the time. But looking back, it seemed a bit odd that Dean would carry on such a casual and comfortable conversation with him. 

_Because it hadn’t been Dean at all._

Shacklebolt flipped through the master list, eyes skimming over the assignments. “Dean Thomas was stationed at the Longbottom house that week.” 

George re-entered the room with Charlie, who blinked around the office blearily. “What’s this all about?” he grumbled. 

Potter closed the door and sealed it magically. “Have you checked him?” he asked George. 

George nodded. “It’s really him.” 

“Well, Charlie,” Shacklebolt began, leaning forward to rest his palms on the desk, “We have an imposter in our midst, and you and Seamus have been targeted.” 

Charlie straightened up, panicked eyes flickering around the room as if expecting to find someone masquerading as himself standing nearby. “How?” 

Potter rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. “Polyjuice, most likely. Though we don’t know how they got access.”

“Well, what do we do?” 

“Everyone who knows is in this room,” Shacklebolt said, his eyes moving to each person in turn. “And it is imperative that it stays that way. Our knowledge is our advantage now, and if that advantage is lost, then it may turn the tides of the war against us.” 

Granger stood from her chair, her pale face set with determination that didn’t quite reach her vacant eyes. “I have a plan.” 

* * *

When the meeting had concluded and the plan was in place, Draco lingered in the office doorway, hoping to have a moment alone with Granger. 

She moved to leave with Potter and the others and he grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her to the side as Shacklebolt locked the office and departed. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly. 

Her head moved up and down quickly, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes, and her feet shuffled backward like she was trying to get away from him. 

After hours of being on high alert, pushing his emotions down and hardening his heart, he began to wake up again. And it was agony. 

“You know I did what I had to do, right?” He reached up to place his hand on the side of her cheek, but she flinched away from his touch. Recoiling. 

His heart unfroze, only to fracture. 

“I know that,” she breathed, backing away from him further. “It’s just… You were like… Like a different person.” 

Draco clenched his jaw. How long had he wanted her to see him for what he was? How long had he tried to push her away? To make her realise that he was dangerous? She’d always been so accepting of it all, but now she had seen it with her own eyes, and it was more than she could bear. 

He released her arm, backing away from her slightly and shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s the training, Granger.” 

“You can perform the Killing Curse non-verbally.” Granger’s hands shook as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Not even Voldemort…” She trailed off, her eyes lifting to his quickly. 

And in her eyes he finally saw what he always thought he should have when she looked at him. Fear. Unrelenting terror at the sight of a killer. An assassin. A monster. Him. 

She had seen it all. Every flash of the blade sinking into flesh, every Killing Curse cast with the ease of summoning a quill. 

_Not even Voldemort…_

Draco’s stomach twisted. So that’s what he looked like to her now. A far more foul and dangerous beast than even the Dark Lord himself had been. He cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from hers, instead focusing on a point on the wall beyond her. He couldn’t bear the way she was looking at him. 

“I did try to warn you about what I am,” he pointed out, his voice sounding hollow and far away. 

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I didn’t mean to say that about Voldemort.” 

“But you were right.” A bitterness was seeping into his fractured soul—a bitterness caused by her words.

_No_ , not her words. By _himself_. By his own actions. Not just what he’d done tonight, but opening up to her in the first place. Opening himself up to her rejection. He felt far more broken by her than by anything he’d ever witnessed. Anything he’d ever done. 

He’d let himself forget what he was. Her love for him had made him feel like he was better than he truly was. But without it, there was no hiding from the monster within him anymore. 

“I think I need some time,” she mumbled. “Time to process all of this.” 

Absently, he nodded, still staring at the spot beyond her head. 

Granger turned and left quickly, as if running away from a dangerous snake. 

A moment later, when his body began to function again, he left too. He ignored the distant chatter of people eating breakfast in the kitchen and dragged his feet up the stairs. The lavatory was empty, and he closed himself inside and silenced the room. 

He stood at the sink and washed his hands, watching the water run red with the blood that still covered him. He scrubbed hard, trying to rid himself the blood that had seeped under his fingernails and dried there. When he was done, he gripped the basin and leaned against it, forcing himself to take deep, even breaths. 

His eyes drifted up to the mirror, and he blinked. 

His face was still coated in the last Death Eater’s blood, and the eyes that stared back at him were nearly black. Cold. Dead. 

The eyes of a murderer.

He clenched his jaw, watching as a tear escaped his right eye and trailed down his cheek, leaving behind a white streak in the blood in its wake. He sucked air into his lungs, willing himself to let go and just cry. Sob, like he had at Pansy’s grave or after he’d killed William. But he couldn’t. Save for that one tear, it seemed he had nothing left within him. 

_Empty._

Granger was right about him. She’d been wrong before, but she now saw him for what he was. He was nothing. Nothing but a trained killer. Good for nothing but taking life. 

He pulled his fist back before launching it forward at the mirror, striking the reflection of his bloody face with all his might. The glass shattered, raining shards down on his hand and fracturing his reflection into tiny segments staring up at him from the sink basin. 

Pulling his bleeding hand back, he drew in breath and let himself scream into the silenced room. 

“FUCK!” 

It bounced off the tiles, and he kept screaming until his voice was raw. 

At last he was spent, and he gripped the sink hard, the ache in his cut hand nothing compared to the pain in his chest. 

He mentally counted how many lives had ended at his hands now. Twelve for the Death Eaters. Five when he’d gone after Mulciber. And six tonight. Twenty-three. 

Twenty-three lives gone because of him. 

Fathers, husbands, brothers, sons. Gone. Gone at the hands of a monster. 

He could have lived with Granger’s rejection of him a month ago. He had hoped for it. 

But he’d opened himself up to her. He’d let himself be drawn in by her acceptance and love for him. He’d allowed himself to believe that she was right, that he was someone worthy of her. Someone worthy of love. 

But he wasn’t. He never could be. Dolohov had seen to that, and Voldemort before him. They’d stripped him of his humanity. Of everything that had once made him decent and innocent. 

And now Granger had seen the truth. 

And now he was all alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Monday.  
> Next chapter posts August 10th
> 
> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/graceful-lioness)


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for leaving kudos and such lovely comments. I appreciate you all so much! 
> 
> AlphaBet love of BiscuitsForPotter and DisenchantedGlow.

When everyone arrived at headquarters just before seven in the morning, Draco was sure he had never seen such fear. Though he had showered and scrubbed the blood from his face, hair, and body, he still felt as though he were coated in it. He could still smell and taste the coppery scent each time he inhaled. And as he made his way through the throng of sleepy, confused people on his way to the dining room, he felt sure they could smell it too. 

A few people greeted him, asking him if he was alright, but he didn’t reply. Even after half an hour of Occluding in the shower, his walls were still so weak that he feared the tiniest thing would send them crumbling to dust. He sat down in his typical chair in the dining room and waited for the meeting to begin. Most everyone was still in the living room, quietly discussing the possible reasons for the impromptu early-morning meeting. Draco closed his eyes, carefully adding layers to his mental walls and doing his best to bury Granger in a far corner of his mind. 

“Are you alright?” 

He opened his eyes. Ginny plopped into the chair next to him, her eyes wide with concern. 

“Harry told me what happened,” she murmured, turning to glance around the room. “I can’t believe you were able to make it out alive.” 

Draco clenched his jaw and focused on a singular spot on the far wall. His walls were thin and precarious, trembling with the strain of withholding the waves of emotion within him. He couldn’t allow Ginny to distract him. 

“Is Hermione alright? I didn’t see her in the living room.” 

“She’s not hurt,” Draco bit out, his chest constricting painfully. The walls within him shuddered, bowing under the pressure of his anguish. 

“That’s good. Poor Cho. It’s so horrible what happened to her.” 

Draco blinked, his eyes snapping to Ginny as her words slipped through his walls, like an arrow darting through the cracks to pierce him in the heart. He’d hardly given any thought to Cho since they’d found her dead. He’d been so focused that he hadn’t allowed himself to properly acknowledge her death. Something akin to guilt and grief crashed over him. 

Cho was dead. She’d tried to alert them to the danger, but had been murdered before she could warn them. He wondered if her Portkey would have worked for her if she’d tried. If she’d left them behind and taken her emergency Portkey to safety, she would be alive. Perhaps she would have been able to get help to the Longbottom house in time. Instead of a slaughter, it could have been a battle. 

He shook his head, forcing his grief for Cho down to the place where he kept Pansy and William and his father. While he was at it, he pushed Granger down as well. Not quite as deep as the others, but low enough that he wouldn’t feel the sting of her loss so sharply. The last thing he needed was to lose control of his emotions during the meeting; to allow them to claw themselves to the surface and explode from him like a feral animal set loose from a cage. 

He focused on his walls, trying his best to fill the cracks quickly. But he kept the arrow in his heart where it belonged. It was only fair to Cho. 

Order members began to file in and take their seats, some clutching steaming cups of coffee or tea, some talking nervously with their neighbors, others sitting quietly as they stifled yawns and waited for their opportunity to go back to sleep. 

Granger was one of the last ones to come in. She was freshly showered and wearing clean clothes that Draco could only guess she’d borrowed from Ginny, but her eyes were still sunken and her skin was ghostly pale. Her eyes remained downcast as she made her way to her normal seat at the table across from Draco. 

He held his breath as the scent of her shampoo surrounded him, and he sat back in his chair. Reminding himself to continue Occluding. Forcing his thoughts away from her. 

Shacklebolt started the meeting by telling everyone what had happened at the Longbottom house. He described it as a “brief struggle,” in which Draco and Granger were fortunate enough to escape, but Cho was not so lucky. The people in the room were appropriately outraged and aggrieved to learn of Cho’s passing. Draco let their fear and grief wash over him, feeling far away as if he were under water. 

Everyone was sure to discover what he was now. They'd know he was a cold-blooded assassin. Potter would certainly figure it out, as well as everyone else who had gone to the Longbottom house an hour ago. They had yet to return, and Draco was sure that the clean-up process there would take the better part of the morning.

Shacklebolt continued his briefing, addressing the room with a calm severity in his voice. “In light of this attack, from now on, every Order member on site will be alerted when the first level of wards are breached. And Portkeys must be tested daily.” 

“The safe houses aren’t going to be shut down?” Molly Weasley’s tone was near hysterical, her eyes wild with fear. 

The Minister shook his head. “Not at this time, no.” 

Molly seemed caught between rage and despair, her mouth a thin line and her wide eyes glistening. “With all due respect, Minister, I think it is reckless to continue on as normal. This is the third attack on our properties. Two young women have died. We cannot continue to put our members in danger!” 

“We are making adjustments as necessary, Molly.” Shacklebolt’s tone was stern, but there was a hint of exhaustion behind it. He seemed weary. “If you have specific safety concerns or suggestions, I would be happy to discuss those with you in private following the meeting.” He leveled her with a stony look, clearly unwilling to discuss the matter further in front of everyone. 

Molly Weasley’s mouth snapped shut and she sat back in her chair. Her husband placed a gentle hand on her arm and they shared a brief look, communicating without words. 

Draco blinked and looked away from the couple. Granger was staring at the table, her eyes dark and unfocused. At least she wasn’t trembling any more. 

The dining room doors opened and Potter entered with George, Seamus, Angelina, and Lee. They made their way through the chairs and took their seats. A murmuring of curious chatter began in the crowd. Some people asked questions to the team as they took their seats, others just whispered to their neighbors. Potter leaned over and whispered something in Granger’s ear, but if she heard him, she didn’t acknowledge it at all. In fact, she hadn’t even looked up when they’d entered. 

Potter shook her arm gently, speaking hushed words that Draco couldn’t hear over the quiet chatter around him. At last, Granger lifted her head and turned to her friend. She gave a quick nod before letting her eyes drift away again. 

For the briefest moment, her eyes slid over Draco’s face and his heart leapt. But with a quiver of her lip, she turned away again. 

Draco felt cold. 

Potter and his team delivered their report. 

All the while, Granger sat quietly, not reacting to anything that was said. Potter told about how they recovered all pertinent information from the Longbottom house as well as Cho’s remains. The Death Eaters' bodies were searched and sent to the St. Mungo’s morgue to await official identification. As he spoke, his eyes flickered to Draco several times, and Draco could tell that he, too, was disturbed by what he had seen at the safe house. 

“Minister, I’d like to speak with you privately following the meeting,” Potter concluded. 

Shacklebolt nodded and addressed the entire Order. “We are taking these attacks very seriously. Rest assured that we are doing everything in our power to discover why they are happening and bring the guilty parties to justice.” 

The words did nothing to quell the tension and fear in the room. Several people glanced at their neighbors with concern or suspicion. Draco stared at Granger, his heart aching every second but finding that he was unable to look away. 

“We would like for everyone to stay here for the day. We will dispatch teams to each of our remaining safe houses to determine how secure each location is and to set up new wards. Please bear with us as we make these alterations. In the meantime, please remain calm. Thank you.” 

Shacklebolt turned to Potter and nodded, and the two men stood and swept out of the room to meet privately. Order members stood and began to depart. Draco lingered, hoping that Granger would too. He would give anything to speak with her for just a few minutes. 

But Granger stood and hurried from the room without so much as a glance in his direction. Ginny cast a worried look to Draco before she followed Granger out. 

Draco made his way out of the dining room and through the crowd of concerned witches and wizards standing around in the living room. He spotted Granger standing with Ginny in the sitting room down the corridor. Granger had her arms crossed defensively around her middle as she spoke to Ginny in a low voice. Ginny reached out to gently place a hand on Granger’s shoulder, her brow furrowed in concern. 

Heart sinking, he made his way over to her. As he approached, Granger wiped her eyes. 

“Can I talk to you?” 

Granger blinked up at him, her eyes wide. Ginny shuffled her feet awkwardly for a moment before stepping away from them to talk to George. 

Granger nodded. 

Draco faltered, not knowing what to say to her. He knew she needed time, and he wanted to respect that. But with her distance came a crushing loneliness that was already seeping into his bones. 

“I just want to make sure you’re alright,” he said finally, thrusting his hands into his pockets to avoid reaching out to touch her. “And if you want to talk… If you have any questions, I mean. Well, I’ll answer honestly. I don’t want you to think that I… that I kept things from you. I still—”

_“Malfoy.”_

Draco grimaced and turned. Potter had poked his head out of the office and was staring at him with a frown. 

Potter always getting in the fucking way. 

“Can we speak with you for a moment?” 

He turned back to Granger for a moment. Her lips were pressed tightly together. “We’ll talk later,” she assured him softly without meeting his eyes. 

Regret bubbling in his stomach, Draco turned away from her with a stiff nod and followed Potter into the office. 

Shacklebolt sat behind the desk. As Draco approached, he gestured toward one of the empty chairs before him. Draco sank into it, watching Potter lock and silence the door before joining them, settling in the chair next to Draco. 

“Am I in trouble?” Draco asked, hoping to cut to the chase. 

“It seems that the Minister was already aware of your… past profession. I was not,” said Potter, leveling his piercing green eyes on Draco.

“I was extremely upfront with the Minister when I joined last year, as he may well recall.” Draco shot a pointed look in Shacklebolt’s direction. 

Shacklebolt nodded, leaning forward to clasp his hands on the desktop. “Yes, you were.” 

“It’s not necessary for me to know everything. Shacklebolt cleared you to join, and that’s good enough for me. The issue, I believe, is that we may not have been aware of the… _extent_ of your abilities. And while we’re glad that you and Hermione were able to make it out safely, we want to impress upon you the importance of capturing Death Eaters alive when possible.” 

Both the Minister and Potter were staring at him intently, and Draco felt a shiver run through his bones. A sudden realisation washed over him. 

_They knew._

When the Death Eater’s safe house had been attacked, no one had thought it possible for that much damage to be done by only one person. 

But now… Now they knew that he was capable of much worse. 

“Yes, sir.” Draco shifted uncomfortably and wiped his palms on the knees of his trousers. There was blood pounding in his ears and he felt his chest constrict with dread. They knew what he had done. He was going to be arrested. He would spend the rest of his life in Azkaban for his sins. 

He fought to keep his face neutral, to Occlude enough to maintain his composure, but his defenses were still feeble. 

“We understand that circumstances tonight did not allow for that kind of action to be taken. We would just like to make sure you realise that, _in the future,_ the use of deadly force should be used only when absolutely necessary.” 

Shacklebolt’s tone was grave, his demeanor stern, but Draco understood. 

He was looking the other way. Choosing not to arrest Draco for his actions taken at the safe house all those weeks ago. Once again, he could scarcely believe his luck. 

Draco cleared his throat. “Understood.” 

“Very well, Mr. Malfoy. You may go.” Shacklebolt stood, dismissing Draco with a stiff nod. 

“Thank you,” Draco mumbled, trying to keep the tremor of relief out of his voice. 

He made his way back to the door. 

“Malfoy.” 

He paused, hand on the knob, and turned back. Potter approached him, leaning quite close and speaking in a low tone. “I saw everything there. At Longbottom House. Everything you did. I’m an Auror, so I understand. The necessity of it. That kind of thing… it doesn’t bother me much. But Hermione isn’t like us. She _saves_ lives, she doesn’t _take_ them. Give her the space she needs to process it all.” 

Draco clenched his jaw, wondering how many fatherly lectures he would get about Granger in his lifetime. With a wave of dread, he realised that if Granger couldn’t look past what had happened, probably very few. 

He offered Potter a stiff nod and then left the office. 

* * *

The next day, the Order held a funeral for Cho. Draco attended this one, refusing to dishonor her the way he’d dishonored Pansy. He stood in his black cloak, alone within the crowd of mourners. The weather was appropriately abysmal, pelting them with rain as Shacklebolt spoke with solemnity about Cho’s great qualities. Her bravery, her loyalty, all the things that made her an admirable asset to the Order. 

But he didn’t mention her temper. Her skill on the Quidditch field. How she’d been quick to look past Draco’s history and accept him as a fellow Order member. Her general dislike for Weasley that Draco had come to find so amusing. 

Draco’s throat tightened and he looked down at his shoes. They were muddy. 

There had been a time when he would have thrown a fit to see his fine, dragonhide boots so sullied, but he wasn’t the same spoiled child he’d been at Hogwarts. 

That boy was dead. 

He felt as though he had died several deaths now. The child. The victim. The assassin. What was he now? A soldier? A lover? 

No, not a lover anymore… 

He felt trapped somewhere between all of these roles. Perhaps none of them had truly died, just been pushed aside when a more pressing role needed to take over. The assassin still lived within him, as evidenced by the massacre he had carried out at the Longbottom house. And it hadn’t been the assassin that had gone back as he’d left the Manor for the old stuffed dragon toy that still was tucked into the bottom of his rucksack, but the child. 

With a wave of his wand, Shacklebolt gently lowered Cho’s coffin into her grave beside Pansy’s. Draco’s chest felt heavy, like his heart couldn’t pump enough blood to the rest of his body. His hand tingled, and it took a moment for him to realise that someone had taken hold of it. 

He looked up sharply. Granger was next to him, her tear-filled eyes staring straight ahead toward the grave. But she was holding his hand. 

Hope bloomed in his heart. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. 

Perhaps they weren’t as broken as he’d feared. He had promised to give her space, and he intended to keep that promise, but just to have her next to him meant everything. Whether she was comforting him or seeking comfort from him, he couldn’t tell. Perhaps both. But as a tear escaped her eye and trailed down her cheek, he couldn’t stop himself from pulling her close and wrapping his arm around her shoulders. 

She leaned into him, burying her face in his chest as Potter moved forward to say a few words. 

He held her tightly, letting her cry into his jumper. 

When the ceremony concluded and the crowd began to disperse, she lifted her head and rested her chin on his chest, meeting his eyes for the first time since yesterday. 

“Thank you,” she warbled, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. 

He lifted his hands and brushed her tears away gently, sweeping her hair out of her face lovingly. “Any time, Granger.” 

* * *

After the funeral, the Order members filed back into the house and ate a comforting stew that Molly Weasley had prepared for the occasion. It was warm and smelled delicious, but Draco felt too ill to eat. He wandered the house, watching as people sat together to cry or to share stories about Cho or to toast to her memory. Feeling like an outsider, Draco didn’t join them, but continued up to his room to be alone. 

That evening, he ventured back down the stairs and found Granger in the sitting room reading a book. He approached her cautiously. 

“I need to talk to you.” Draco spoke softly, not wanting to startle her.

She looked up warily, biting her lip before she closed her book and set it on the coffee table. 

Draco sank into the adjacent chair and leaned forward onto his elbows, clasping his hands together to keep them from shaking. His heart was beating erratically in his chest, and he took a shuddering breath. 

“I know you need time. I promise to give it to you. But I just didn’t want you to come to terms with everything that’s happened only to be shocked again if you found out more later on.” He cleared his throat, casting a glance over his shoulder to be sure that they weren’t being overheard. 

Granger drew her wand and murmured, _“Muffliato.”_ He felt the muffling spell trickle over them, encasing them in a bubble of privacy. “Go on,” she urged gently, pocketing her wand. 

Draco’s stomach twisted. He didn’t want to tell her all the things he was about to say, but he didn’t have a choice. She deserved to know everything. 

“There’s something that no one knows. And it could get me into a lot of trouble.” He leaned forward, letting his head fall into his hands to avoid looking her in the eye. “But more than that, the guilt has been eating me alive.” 

Granger sat quietly, not pressing him to spit it out or to confess. He could feel her eyes watching him perceptively, analysing him. 

“Pansy…” he trailed off. “Her death is my fault.” 

“No,” Granger breathed, leaning forward to place her hand gently on his knee. “You weren’t entirely recovered at that time. And the Death Eaters attacked so quickly—”

“Granger—” Draco cut her off, lifting his head sharply to catch her eye. “I tampered with her wand.” 

Granger’s mouth fell open slightly and her brow furrowed. Confused. She pulled her hand from his knee. “What do you mean?” 

“I… I didn’t trust her. I thought she was there to kill you. All of my instincts were telling me that she was a spy for Dolohov. Theo told me that Dolohov had been training my replacement. She told me she’d been travelling, recruiting. But the places she said she’d been were the same ones Weasley mentioned had been sites of targeted assassinations. Something wasn’t adding up.” He paused his runaway rant to take a deep breath. “So, I warded her wand. Made it so she wouldn’t be able to use it in any of the safe houses or headquarters.” 

“If you had shared your suspicions with someone—”

“I tried. Potter assured me that she passed the interrogation just as I did, but…” 

Granger stared at him, her eyes wide and tear-filled. 

“But I didn’t tell Shacklebolt everything when I joined. I answered his questions honestly, but I… withheld certain facts. I didn’t tell him that I’d nearly killed you, for example. I knew he’d never let me join if he learned that. And if I could keep things from him, I knew Pansy could have as well.” 

He dragged his fingers through his hair and released a shuddering breath. “It was a mistake… one I can’t fix. So, you see, when I said I was responsible for her death, I meant it.” 

“Even if you suspected her of being a spy, why tamper with her wand?” 

“I had to keep you safe.” 

Granger’s eyes dropped away from him, her lip quivering. 

“I’ve been in love with you for longer than I realised… maybe since you saved my life…” His throat was tight, and he cleared it to keep his voice from breaking. 

“She might have died even with a working wand,” Granger pointed out. “Witches and wizards die in duels all the time.” 

“I know that. But I took away any hope of her having a fighting chance. And if I’d been up to my usual level of skill, I don’t doubt that I could have handled both of the Death Eaters that attacked, but I wasn’t. And she’s dead because of my stupidity and failures.” 

Granger was quiet for several minutes. “Thank you for telling me,” she breathed. “Is there any more?” 

Draco looked up at her, his emotions bubbling up his throat at the thought of William. “Yes.” 

Something crossed Granger’s face that he couldn’t quite place, but she slumped slightly, as if the weight of his confessions was pushing her down. 

“What is it?” she breathed softly, her eyes fearful. 

“William.” Draco’s voice was strained with heavy grief. 

Granger’s eyes softened. “Who’s William?” 

Draco ran his hand over his face heavily. “Just a kid, really. Graduated from Durmstrang a year after the Battle of Hogwarts. Took the mark from Dolohov because his father expected him to. He was a good kid. Kind.” 

He stared at the floor in front of his feet, unable to bear the sight of Granger’s mournful gaze upon him. 

“After Pansy died and I… I attacked the Death Eater’s safe house…” He cleared his throat, willing the bile roiling in his stomach to settle as he confessed to his worst sin yet. “William was there. He was there, but I didn’t realise it until after… after I—” 

“After you’d killed him,” Granger concluded, her voice trembling. 

A shuddering breath escaped Draco as his emotions tumbled out of him without restraint. He hung his head in his hands. 

Granger was quiet for a moment as he cried. But then her voice cut across the silence between them, soft and piteous. “It was an accident, Draco. You didn’t mean to kill him.” 

“But I did,” Draco hissed bitterly, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “I went to that safe house to kill them all. I didn’t care who they were, I just wanted them dead. I wouldn’t have regretted it at all if I hadn’t noticed William afterwards. And what kind of monster does that make me, Granger? I don’t care that I killed Mulciber, or Rowle, or Avery, but William… he was…” 

Granger sniffled, and her hand reached out to gently stroke his head. “I don’t know what to say.” 

Draco didn’t know what he wanted her to say. He wanted her to fix it all, to absolve him of his sins even though he knew she didn’t have the power to do either of those things. 

He pushed down the deepest desire within him. The desire for her to tell him that it was okay. That despite the horrible things he’d done, he was still worthy of her love. That she would stand by him even knowing the worst of him. 

She didn’t say anything of the sort, and Draco’s heart crumbled with each passing minute. 

“Is there more?” Her voice was hardened now. Cold. It shivered through Draco like a wintery breeze. 

Draco looked up and shook his head. “That’s it.” 

She pulled her hand back from his head and placed it in her lap. “Thank you for telling me everything.” 

Draco waited for her to continue. Perhaps she would tell him that she couldn’t look past everything he’d done, that he was beyond reproach and deserved to suffer a miserable life of solitude. It would hurt, but at least he would have his answer. 

“I still need… time,” she mumbled. 

Heart plummeting, Draco nodded. 

“I’m sorry. I know what you did the other night was necessary. You saved my life, and I’ll forever be grateful for that. But every time I close my eyes, I see—” 

She trailed off, but Draco didn’t need to guess at what she saw. She saw _him._ Covered in blood, sinking his knife into men’s throats, speaking to her harshly with dead eyes, taking life silently with the wave of his wand. 

Who could stand by someone after that? Who could _love_ someone after that? 

He nodded to signal to her that she needn’t continue. It was clear that she’d seen the demon he was with her own eyes. 

She rose abruptly and shuffled past him toward the exit. Pausing next to his chair, she spoke in a quiet but firm tone. “I still don’t think you’re a monster.” She left.

And though it hadn’t been much, his heart swelled in his chest with hope.

* * *

Draco hardly saw Granger over the next few days, keeping his distance from her as promised. Whenever he passed her in the corridors, he kept his eyes down, ignoring the tightening in his chest and the burning in his throat. 

However, there were times when they had to be in the same room. In one such instance, Shacklebolt called a meeting with just the people who were privy to the information on the imposter within the Order. 

Their plan would go into motion immediately after the next Order meeting. There were now two master lists. One real, that Shacklebolt kept on his person at all times, and one fake, which would be kept in the office as usual. 

Everyone in the small group had access to the real list, but they were required to prove their identity each time they met. 

Every time Granger spoke in these meetings was like a knife twisting in Draco’s heart. He sat far away from her, trying to avoid seeing the little movements she made that he’d grown so accustomed to noticing, or smelling her shampoo or perfume. Potter was all business in the meetings, but Draco often noticed him sharing sympathetic looks with Granger or looking at Draco with a forlorn expression. 

If not for the imminent operation rapidly approaching, Draco would have had nothing to focus on. So he threw himself into the work, hoping to drown his sorrows in hundreds of details about Polyjuice potion, schedules, and plans of action. 

After the next Order meeting, which delivered nothing but news of failed intel missions, Kingsley doled out the safe house assignments to each person individually. The next morning, Draco was sent to a newly set up safe house with Ginny, Charlie, and Angelina. 

The Master schedule kept in Shacklebolt’s office—the fake one—indicated that Charlie was meant to be at Shell Cottage for the week, and that Seamus would be at the newly set up Stewart house. 

Only the names of Order members known to have been impersonated—Dean, Seamus, and Charlie, were listed as stationed at a different house than their real physical locations. Otherwise, the lists were indistinguishable. 

It was a brilliant plan, really. If the imposter followed their suspected routine, they’d look at the fake list and show up at the incorrect house. The Order would know right away and would be able to take swift action, hopefully taking the imposter by surprise. 

The first day at the Stewart house was very quiet. They played Quidditch, and if there had been any doubt about Charlie’s identity when they left Headquarters, there was none after watching him play. Draco had seen Charlie on a broom enough over the past year to know his flying style. Even though he was rusty, he had a natural ease on a broom that Draco was fairly confident couldn’t be imitated by just anyone. 

Draco hadn’t been apart from Granger since the night she’d nearly died in the Westenberg house fire. Though he longed to be near her to keep her safe, he couldn’t deny that being away from her was helpful to his current heartbreak. He wasn’t sure how much more he could have handled. Skirting around her in corridors and at meal times, catching her eye from across the table only to have to look away at the pained look on her face. It was driving him mad. A few days away from her didn’t help him heal, but it was definitely easier to breathe. 

The following day, the four occupants of the Stewart house were gathered for lunch in the kitchen. Draco was chatting with Charlie about their hopes for Puddlemere’s chances in next year’s Quidditch championships. 

Though he still drank too much and would occasionally become quite melancholy, Draco noticed that Charlie seemed to be slowly coming back to himself since Pansy’s death. It sparked a bit of hope in Draco’s chest to see that, even in the darkest of circumstances, people could still heal. 

“You’re crazy if you think Puddlemere’s got a chance against the Harpies!” Ginny piped up. 

“Yeah,” Angelina agreed, setting down her fork to debate with full focus. “Their new seeker, McDaniel is the quickest thing I’ve ever seen on a broomstick. She’s only five feet tall and thin as a whip. Puddlemere’s seeker, Andrews doesn’t stand a chance. He’s too broad. It’s a simple matter of aerodynamics.” 

“She’s too young,” Charlie argued. “She doesn’t have the experience needed to go up against someone like Andrews.” 

“You’re mental!” Ginny threw her arms in the air. “In a race, McDaniel is nearly twice as fast as Andrews.” 

“Seeking isn’t just about speed. It’s about skill on a broom. Plus, you have to see the Snitch first,” Draco pointed out, taking a bite of his sandwich. 

“Exactly!” Charlie jabbed his fork in Draco’s direction. 

“Oh, let’s just say what this is _really_ about, shall we?” Ginny argued, rising to her feet to loom over her seated brother. “You don’t think she can be as good as Andrews because she’s a _woman_.” 

Charlie rolled his eyes. “This has nothing to do with sex! Andrews is just a better player.” 

“Men always try to pretend that they aren’t chauvinists by citing physical ability. Seeking is about skill, not brute strength. A woman can be just as good if not better than a man!” 

“Oh, so now I’m a chauvinist?” Charlie argued. 

“I just—” Ginny trailed off, her eyes going wide as she stared at the kitchen door. 

Draco turned to see Charlie standing in the doorway, wearing a black jumper. 

But Charlie was already sitting next to him. In a red t-shirt. 

The Charlie in the doorway went pale as a ghost. He stumbled backwards and began to turn and run. 

Draco’s stomach swooped, but he didn’t hesitate. Whipping out his wand, Draco quickly stunned the retreating Charlie. The man in the black jumper crumpled to the floor. Draco turned to his seated friend, who looked a bit shocked at seeing himself in the doorway. His blue eyes met Draco’s and he nodded. With an apologetic smile, Draco stunned him too, and Charlie slumped back in his chair. 

“What the—?” Ginny gaped at the two men, her face white. 

“We have to take them both to Headquarters as quickly as we can,” Draco directed, binding the two men with a quick, _“Incarcerous.”_

“What’s going on?” Angelina asked, rising to her feet. 

“One of them is an imposter,” Draco replied, fetching the wands from each man’s pocket. “It’s how our safe houses have been compromised.” 

“Well, which one is Charlie?” Ginny’s voice was trembling as her eyes flitted between the two identical men.

“Probably the one we’ve been talking to, judging by the other’s reaction. But we’ll know for sure once we get back to Headquarters and can question them both.” 

Angelina pulled out her wand and levitated both men. “Has the house already been compromised?” 

Draco shook his head. “I have no idea. We should assume that it has been. Gather any important information as quickly as you can, but we can come back with a proper team for everything else.” 

The two witches nodded and moved together into the office next door. Less than a minute later, they returned, a small rucksack slung over Ginny’s shoulder. “Let’s go,” she clipped, eyes darting between the two identical forms of her brother hovering bound in the kitchen. 

Draco levitated them to the kitchen door and out into the garden. His eyes darted around looking for any signs of Death Eaters approaching the wards. The grassy field that surrounded the Stewart house was still and peaceful. 

Angelina stepped beyond the wards first, grabbed hold of one of the stunned men and Disapparated with a _crack._

“I’ll get the other one,” Draco told Ginny as they both crossed the invisible boundary. She nodded at him and disappeared. Draco held the unconscious man tightly by the arm and followed too, arriving on the front steps of Headquarters an instant later. 

Together, the five of them made their way into the spacious townhome and quickly moved to the office. 

Shacklebolt sat behind his desk, eyes flying over documents. 

“Minister,” Draco interrupted firmly. 

As soon as Shacklebolt looked up, his eyes grew wide, the exhilaration of their plan working evident on his face. He waved his wand, two identical silver lynxes darting away before he ushered them all inside and closed them in. 

Draco levitated the two bound men into chairs and bound them there. “Do we have any Polyjuice antidote?” he asked. 

“Hermione brewed some as soon as we realised what was happening,” Shacklebolt replied. 

Draco’s stomach dropped, and he had only a few seconds to prepare himself for seeing her before there was a knock at the door. 

Potter entered the office, wand in hand, prepared for anything. Granger trailed after him, a phial of swirling blue liquid clenched in her fist. Her eyes fell upon Draco and she paused before dropping her gaze and sliding past him. 

“Which one?” Granger asked, eyes dancing between the two identical men. 

“We think the one in the black jumper,” Ginny replied. “But we can’t be certain.” 

“Do you have enough antidote to test both?” Shacklebolt asked. 

Granger nodded and uncorked her phial. She approached the men and tipped the potion into their slack mouths, being sure that the first one swallowed it before moving on to the second. 

“It should only take a few seconds,” she announced, stepping back and placing the phial in her pocket. 

Both Charlies were stirring. They lifted their heads with a groan and blinked blearily around the room. The Charlie in the black jumper looked shocked, his eyes going wide for a moment before he struggled against his bonds. He glanced at his freckled hands and then to the man bound in the next chair. 

“There’s no use struggling,” Potter said. With a wave of his wand, both men were gagged. 

They waited for several minutes, two identical Charlies blinking up at them from their chairs. 

“Are you sure you brewed the antidote correctly?” Draco asked Granger. 

“Yes,” she huffed indignantly. “Maybe he isn’t using Polyjuice. Or maybe it’s a stronger dose than the typical brew.” 

Shacklebolt paced around the room, hands in his pockets. After a moment, he crossed to a locked cabinet and opened it to expose a small stash of potions. He withdrew a small phial containing only a few drops of clear liquid. 

“I only have enough Veritaserum for one of them. We have to be sure.” 

Granger nodded, narrowed eyes trained on the Charlie in the black jumper who was staring daggers back at her. “Give the Polyjuice antidote a few more minutes. I’m sure I brewed it properly.” 

Sure enough, after only a moment longer, the man before them began to change. His skin bubbled and darkened to an olive tone. His hair shortened, shrinking back into his scalp and changing to a mousy brown. Charlie’s broad shoulders narrowed, leaving a far more gangly man in the chair. His face shifted, the gag falling from the man’s lips as his head narrowed. His eyes darkened, becoming more sunken, Charlie’s blue irises fading to nearly black as familiar eyes blinked up at Draco. 

Blood pounded in Draco’s ears as he stared at the man who had infiltrated the Order. Who had set up coordinated attacks on safe houses. Who had nearly gotten Granger killed. Who was truly responsible for Pansy and Cho’s deaths. 

“Hello, Draco,” he purred, his lips curling back in a vicious sneer. 

Draco swallowed, his throat tightening painfully at the sight of the man who had once been such a dear friend. At the man who had saved his life. The last man he’d ever expected to be sitting in that chair. 

“Hello, Theo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Monday  
> Next chapter posts: August 17th
> 
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	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently began posting a much lighter Dramione fic called Bad Books and Second Looks. If you've got the DitD blues from all the angst, check it out! 
> 
> Alright, y'all. You ready for answers? Buckle up. 
> 
> AlphaBet love to BiscuitsForPotter and DisenchantedGlow for being amazing and working so hard.

Draco’s head was spinning. 

No. It couldn’t be Theo. Theo was his friend. Theo had saved him when he’d been captured. Theo had always been the _kind_ one, the _understanding_ one. 

“I’m guessing that you’re surprised to see me,” Theo chuckled, tilting his head as though mocking him. 

Draco forced himself to take deep, steadying breaths. 

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Theo tutted. “Most of the other Death Eaters didn’t even know what I was up to.” 

Shacklebolt swept forward and forced the Veritaserum into Theo’s mouth. 

“Now, Minister. There’s no need for such force. I would have taken it willingly if you’d asked.” Theo’s tone was derisive, and Draco’s heart clenched to hear the hatred behind it. 

“ _You’re_ the one Dolohov trained after I left,” Draco surmised, his brain trying to catch up to what he was witnessing. How could he have been so wrong about Theo? 

Theo smirked, and it felt like a punch to the gut. He continued to speak as though Draco were a child. “So clever. It _did_ take you long enough to figure it out. You so badly wanted it to be Pansy, didn’t you?” 

Draco grimaced, turning away so that he wouldn’t have to see Theo’s face. Perhaps this was all a horrible nightmare. Perhaps he would wake up and it would only be the day after his birthday. Granger would be curled into his side just like she loved and the last several days would just be a distant bad dream. 

“Was she a spy?” Draco asked, tamping down any ounce of emotion. 

“No.” Theo’s voice grew cold. “She served her purpose for us though. Without her, we never would have found your safe houses.” 

“How did you do it?” Shacklebolt’s presence alone projected an aura of authority, but this was a tone Draco had never heard from him before. It was low. Dangerous, almost. The focus of the conversation shifted back to business.

“A simple trace charm. I knew she’d do anything to avenge Draco after she left. She thought you were dead, you see, but I knew better.” 

“Why bother saving me?” Draco turned back to stare at his old friend. 

“Oh Draco, you’re far more useful to me alive than dead.” He chuckled darkly, and the sound sent shivers rippling through Draco’s bones. “Don’t get me wrong, Dolohov was livid when he heard what I’d done, but once I explained the greater picture, he came around. You see, he _trusts_ me. Far more than he ever trusted you. I’m not just a mindless drone to do as I’m told. He values my ideas. And when I came to him with my new plan, well… You should have seen how he praised me.” 

“What plan?” Potter snapped, keeping his wand trained on Theo. 

“When I went to Draco’s cell the night before he nearly died, I took a hair. Initially, I did intend to let you die, Draco. I would have merely replaced you. Wandered into St. Mungo’s pretending to be wounded and let one of you lot find me and bring me back to Headquarters. But then I heard Yaxley bragging about his plan to send the evidence of Draco’s death to the Order, and I knew it would be too suspicious for me to show up after such a brutal death. So I knew I needed you to live. _Barely._ ” Theo’s lips curled as his wicked eyes came to rest on Draco. 

“I gave you the best antidote we had at the time. I wasn’t sure it would work, but I figured I could make something work even if you did die.” 

Angelina unbound the real Charlie and helped him to stand. Charlie looked murderous as he watched Theo speak. 

“Unfortunately, your symptoms were far more severe than I anticipated. I knew I wouldn’t be able to replicate everything. Your limp, your stutter, not to mention you were constantly with _her.”_ Theo’s eyes flickered to Granger and Draco’s blood ran cold. “So, I had to get more creative.” 

“Creative? How?” Ginny scowled at Theo. 

“Finnegan’s mother worked at that sad little dress shop in Diagon Alley. She was easy enough to get to. I knew that if she were ill I would be able to get hairs from him more easily. Finnegan certainly visited her frequently. Posing as a Healer was easy enough once I stole a hair or two. From there, Finnegan was within my grasp. I just had to keep his mother sick enough to keep coming back to St. Mungo’s every week or so. Sick enough to be hospitalized, but not so sick for her to die.” 

Draco’s blood ran cold at the thought of intentionally keeping an innocent woman ill for months on end. 

“So, I had his hair and an improved Polyjuice that Yaxley and his team developed. Keeps you looking like the person much longer than the typical brew. A new hair isn’t required with each dose either unless you want to change into someone different. Quite ingenious, really. Once I had the how, I just needed the where. I needed a precise location for a safe house.” 

“Pansy,” Angelina guessed. Theo winked at her and Angelia drew back, disgust painted across her features.

“She was distraught when she found out that Draco had died. When I told her how it happened, she was livid. I knew she would want to defect. I just had to convince her that what she _really_ wanted was to avenge you. To make the Death Eaters who killed you pay for what they’d done by joining the Order. If she hadn’t, none of this would have been possible.” 

Draco ground his teeth together, fighting to keep his anger under control. He had to Occlude. Keep his barriers up. 

“So you see, Draco, she wasn’t a spy, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t help me. The trace led me to her. Once I knew roughly where Headquarters was, it was just a matter of getting in. I chose a day when I knew Finnegan would be at St. Mungo’s with his dear, sweet, sick mum. Disguised as him, I waited until some people Apparated to the point across the street and then walked in with them. Your security is shockingly lax, really. You’ll let any friendly face into your midst.” 

Shacklebolt ran a hand heavily over his face with a sigh. 

“Once I was inside Headquarters, I had access to everything. All of the safe houses and members locations. I knew it would be too suspicious for me to use Finnegan every time I was in an Order meeting or hanging around, so I decided to mix it up. That Thomas bloke is always hanging around Finnegan. It was easy enough to get his hair. And the Weasleys are so messy, it was extremely simple getting hairs from them. And after Pansy died, Charlie Weasley was so out of sorts that I could practically walk through the same house as him without him noticing. And if I acted strangely, no one noticed because Finnegan and Charlie already _were_.” 

Ginny was red in the face, looking like she’d very much like to attack Theo with her bare hands. Draco placed his hand on her shoulder and she flinched slightly. 

“Why kill Pansy?” Charlie asked, his voice shaking with anger. 

“She had fulfilled her usefulness. I had no further need to keep her alive,” Theo replied coldly, his eyes boring into Charlie’s. “Besides, she was a filthy traitor. She deserved what she got.” 

Charlie lunged for Theo, but Potter caught him around the middle and pulled him back with the help of Shacklebolt. 

“Calm yourself, Charlie,” Shacklebolt hissed. “Or we’ll remove you.” 

“Why is Granger still a target?” Draco asked. 

Theo shrugged. “Call it a matter of principle.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, at first we didn’t want her to pass on what she knew about the ingredients we’d stolen. We couldn’t have her making an antidote. But then _you_ had to refuse to kill her and ruin that plan.” 

Everyone’s eyes turned sharply to Draco, and he felt his cheeks flare hot. 

“Ah… _fascinating,”_ Theo hummed with amusement. “They didn’t know. Well, I’m sorry to let the bowtruckle out of the tree. I wonder what else they didn’t know about you.” 

“Enough,” Potter spat, turning back to Theo. “Keep going.” 

“I’ll admit that we cared a bit less that she was alive after we attacked Trafalgar. But then I started to notice how close you two had become. And, well… it was just too good an opportunity to pass up. To take her from you. To make you watch her die before we killed you too. It was just such a brilliant opportunity for maximum pain for the man who betrayed the High Minister.” 

Granger rolled her eyes with a scoff. 

Theo laughed. “There’s that reckless Gryffindor courage you always laughed at, Draco. Completely dismissive of the fact that she nearly died twice in the past month.” His eyes slid back to Draco. “And the war isn’t even over yet.” 

Draco charged forward, not stopping until Potter and Shacklebolt had restrained him. “If you lay a fucking finger on her—” 

“Ah, _there’s_ the rage. Going to kill me like you killed all those Death Eaters, Draco? Can't claim self defense this time. I’m not exactly a threat at the moment.” Theo grinned and nodded to his bonds. 

Despite Theo’s incarceration, Draco couldn’t help the icy feeling spreading through his veins. Theo was dangerous. He’d been trained by Dolohov in the same way that Draco had, plus it seemed that he’d been given far more opportunities to be creative when planning attacks for the Death Eaters. He could only guess how far up in Dolohov’s ranks Theo had risen, but Draco was sure he held quite a respected position. 

“Calm down, Draco.” Granger placed a gentle hand on his arm, but kept her eyes steady on Theo. She had the same look that she’d had when Draco had joined the Order, as if she were trying to figure out a complex puzzle. 

Theo’s eyes danced between Draco and Granger, his lips curled back in a wicked smile. “I must confess that I was quite surprised when you two fell into each other’s arms. Let me ask you, Granger. Did _you_ know that your boyfriend had been tasked with killing you?” 

Granger didn’t speak, but her scowl was something ferocious. She gave Theo a hateful look that Draco had once received from her daily. He hoped to never see it directed toward him again. 

“Oh, dear. I hope I haven’t driven a wedge between you two. It’s obviously _true love_ after all.” Theo’s tone was sarcastic, and Draco wanted nothing more than to throttle the man. 

“I knew everything,” Granger spat, turning away from Theo. 

“Ah, fascinating. And you still fucked him. You’re either very stupid or very trusting. Or perhaps you have a thing for murderers.” Theo’s eyebrows jumped in delight. “I tried to kill you too, Granger. How about a shag?”

Draco reared forward again, cocking his fist, eager to break Theo’s jaw, only to once again be stopped by Potter. 

Granger scowled at Theo for several seconds before turning to Shacklebolt. “Azkaban, yes?” 

Shacklebolt nodded, his expression grave. “I certainly think we have enough to detain him indefinitely without trial. Theodore Nott, you are under arrest for crimes against the Ministry of Magic, the Order of the Phoenix, and humanity. You will be transported to Azkaban immediately where you will await trial following the end of the war.” 

“What a surprise,” Theo droned. 

“Shut it,” Potter snapped, still holding Draco back firmly. 

Theo grinned at him, but did not try to speak again. 

Shacklebolt turned to Ginny. “Ginny, please fetch Dawlish for me. Tell him to assemble a team of Aurors to escort Mister Nott to Azkaban.” 

Ginny nodded and left quickly, casting an uneasy glance at Theo and Draco on her way out. 

Potter released Draco slowly, but stayed close by as if anticipating needing to catch him again. “Minister, would you like me to escort him as well?”

Shacklebolt shook his head and walked around his desk. “No, I need you here. We have much to discuss.” 

Potter nodded and turned to Granger. “Are you alright?” 

Granger nodded, not taking her eyes off of Theo. Her wand was gripped tightly in her hand, and Draco wondered if she also felt like this had all been a little too easy. 

Theo didn’t look like a man who knew he was going to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban. In fact, he seemed to know quite the opposite. Draco wasn’t sure if it was mere hubris, or if Theo knew something that they did not. 

Granger’s eyes flickered to his, and Draco knew that she shared his concerns. He felt his heart thud in his chest. Despite all of their tension recently, it seemed that she still looked to him to voice her concerns first. 

He nodded at her briefly, as if to reassure her that it was going to be alright. He knew he couldn’t promise it, but he also knew, as he had for months now, that he would do whatever it took to keep her safe. 

Dawlish entered the office, his dark eyes settling on Theo for a moment before turning to the Minister. “The Aurors are coming.” 

“Thank you, Dawlish. How many did you call for?” 

“Three. The four of us will escort him to Azkaban immediately. We’ll need a Portkey.” 

Shacklebolt nodded at him. “I’ll have one ready. Retrieve your team and bring them here as quickly as you can.” He reached into the office drawer and withdrew a chipped teacup. Dawlish swept out of the office again, closing the door behind him. 

Shacklebolt set the cup on top of a handkerchief on his desk and mumbled, _“Portus.”_ He murmured several more spells under his breath, Draco guessed that these were to penetrate both the wards of Headquarters and Azkaban. 

Draco stepped towards Granger. She had her arms crossed over her chest, her brow furrowed in worry and thought. Reaching out, he placed a hand gently on her shoulder. 

Her eyes snapped to his and she offered him a forced smile before moving away from him to be near Potter. 

His heart twisted painfully, but he did his best to shake the rejection away. With a sigh, he dragged his hands over his face before turning around. 

Theo was staring at him, his eyes glinting maliciously and one brow twitching upward as he looked between Draco and Granger. “Trouble in paradise?” he quipped. 

“Silence,” Shacklebolt snapped without looking up from the Portkey. 

Theo just grinned. 

The office door opened again and Dawlish entered with three other Aurors. He stood before Theo and recited his rights and briefly explained what would be happening. In Draco’s opinion, it was more than Theo deserved, but he supposed it was standard protocol for transporting prisoners to Azkaban. 

After a moment, one of the Aurors released the bonds holding Theo to the chair and hoisted him to his feet. He bound him again once standing, and Draco watched as four highly trained Aurors escorted his friend toward the center of the room. 

Shacklebolt scooped up the Portkey in its wrappings and walked around the desk. The Aurors all connected together, forming a barrier around Theo while holding tightly to him. Dawlish held out his hand for the Minister, and just before the Portkey was placed in it, just before they were all whisked away, Theo looked directly at Draco and _winked_. 

Draco’s blood ran cold as the five wizards disappeared. Was it possible that Theo was so mad, so arrogant, that he didn’t see the severity of his situation? Or was it something else? Did he know something that the Order did not? 

“We’ll have a meeting immediately,” Shacklebolt announced, rounding on the small group still in the room. “Call everyone in from the safe houses please, Potter. And alert the others.” 

Potter nodded and waved his wand, producing several magnificent silver stags. After the messages were spoken, they all galloped away, disappearing through the walls of Headquarters toward their respective locations.

The Minister began pacing around the room. “We will need to be on our guard for a while. It’s possible that Nott’s reach was greater than we realised. Draco, I would like to work with you after the meeting on strengthening the wards here. Headquarters is under the Fidelius Charm, which makes it much more protected than the other safe houses, but he was able to enter, so I would like to be sure.” 

“Yes, sir.” Draco couldn’t believe he was being trusted with a task so important, especially now that Shacklebolt knew everything about him. 

“Dismissed for now, team. Good work. We’ll start the meeting at eight. Try to eat a little something.” 

Draco turned to Granger automatically, but found that she was already filing out of the room with Ginny. Disappointment spread through his bones like acid. Despite the brief moments of hope, he was beginning to feel tired. Even after having several days to think, she still hadn’t warmed to him again. Perhaps she never would. 

A large hand came down hard on his shoulder and he jumped. Charlie had walked up next to him and was smiling thinly at him. “Come on. Let’s get a bite.” 

Charlie hadn’t seemed like himself in so long, it was odd to see this glimpse of the man he used to be. 

Draco trailed after him to the kitchen, passing Granger and Ginny in the living room talking quietly in a corner. She didn’t look up as he passed, and Draco did his best to push his bubbling irritation down. How much time did she need? 

In the kitchen, Draco filled his plate with some delicious-smelling pot roast and vegetables. He grabbed a bread roll, holding it in his mouth while he poured himself a tumbler of firewhisky. Charlie settled at the kitchen table and Draco sat across from him. 

He tore off the bit of roll he held in his mouth and then set the rest on his plate. He picked up his fork and began pushing the vegetables around, wondering if he would really be able to eat much. 

Theo had been his friend, perhaps even his _best_ friend. But Draco had never seen him look the way he had in that room. That was… a different man altogether. Try as he might, Draco couldn’t shake the mental image of Theo’s vicious grin as he goaded him and Granger. The glint in his eyes as he watched their tension. The knowing wink just before the Portkey took him to prison. 

He thought back to the day he’d been captured at the Selwyn house. Theo had been so kind. So understanding. So heartbroken at the idea of his friend’s imminent death. Had it all truly been an act? How long had Theo been merely pretending to be his friend? Since the Battle of Hogwarts? Or perhaps even longer. Perhaps Draco had never had a genuine interaction with Theo until today. 

Thoughts of eating gone, Draco leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, hanging his head in his hands with a sigh. 

“Alright, mate?” Charlie spoke with his mouth full. 

Draco grimaced and shook his head. Why lie? 

“Was he your friend?” Charlie’s voice was softer now, it crept forward and wrapped around Draco’s heart, enveloping it in warmth. 

Draco lifted his head, taking in Charlie’s concerned eyes. “I thought he was.” 

Charlie offered him a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry. At least we know now. No one else needs to die because of him.” He skewered a carrot with his fork and brought it to his lips. He seemed… lighter. Like the storm clouds that had followed him since Pansy’s death were beginning to dissipate. 

“You seem like you’re doing better. Doesn’t it bother you that he impersonated you? We don’t even know how many times.” 

“A bit, yeah.” Charlie shrugged. “I suppose I feel better though.” 

Draco felt his brow furrow in confusion. 

“I spent months trying to figure out what I’d done wrong after Pansy died. She was under my care, and she died because I wasn’t there. But I guess meeting _him_ … It just helped me realise that, while I may have been able to help if I’d been there, it isn’t my fault. _He’s_ the one truly to blame for everything. For Pansy, for Cho, for… everything. I guess it just helps to have a face to put to all of the things we couldn’t explain.” 

Draco considered Charlie’s words. He had a point. Both of them had been carrying around so much guilt for Pansy for so long. And while Draco certainly wasn’t blameless, he hadn’t sold her location to the Death Eaters. He hadn’t orchestrated the attack. He hadn’t raised his wand to her. 

He knew that he would carry his guilt with him for the rest of his life. Like a dark shadow, it would follow him forever. But by channeling the true blame to Theo, the shadow felt a bit smaller. Already, the sting of Theo’s betrayal was beginning to morph into a much more manageable emotion: anger. 

At least he was on his way to Azkaban. He wouldn’t be able to hurt them anymore. 

Draco picked up his fork and took a few small bites of roast. 

As they ate, the other Order members began to file into the house in preparation for the meeting. The kitchen became loud, and several others joined Draco and Charlie at the table to eat. 

“Any idea what this meeting is about, gents?” George asked, reaching across Draco to pluck a bread roll from the basket. 

“I’ll let Shacklebolt fill you all in,” Charlie answered.

“Merlin, we haven’t been attacked again, have we?” George looked around the room, as if expecting to see someone dead or dying nearby. 

“No, nothing like that. Just an urgent update.” 

George grimaced at his brother, obviously unhappy about being kept in the dark. “Fine, keep your secrets. Unless…” He leaned in conspiratorially, eyes glinting. “I’ll trade you. Your secret for one of mine.” 

“You don’t have any secrets.” Charlie rolled his eyes. 

“Usually that’s true, but not this time, Chuck.” 

Charlie wrinkled his nose at the nickname. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’s your secret?” 

“Promise you’ll tell me what the meeting’s about if I tell?” 

“No. Now spill.” 

“You spoil sport. I should withhold my secret on principle!” George grinned and sat back in his chair. 

Charlie just rolled his eyes and turned back to his dinner. 

“Luckily for you, I just have to tell someone!” George leaned close, placing a hand on Charlie and Draco’s shoulders. “Gents, I’ve asked Angelina to marry me.” 

Draco blinked. A proposal? In the middle of everything? Like they weren’t at war. Like people weren’t dying all around them. Like there was something to look forward to. Like they might have a future. 

“Why?” The question had left Draco before he could stop it. 

George barked out a laugh. “Why not?” He took a bite of his roll and continued to talk while chewing. “Why wait when we could be dead tomorrow? I know I want to spend the rest of my life with her. So why should I be obligated to wait until the war is over? It could drag on for years. Besides, when Angelina looks at me with those big, beautiful brown eyes, it just makes me want to sink to my knees and do all sorts of things.” He laughed loudly. “Like promise her the world… or...” He trailed off suggestively and sent Draco a wink. 

“So, what did she say?” Charlie asked. 

“I said yes, of course.” Angelina’s smooth voice floated over the table as she made her way into the kitchen. She grinned at her new fiancé and bent to place a kiss against his lips. 

“Well, congratulations,” Draco offered, hoping he sounded more enthusiastic than he felt. As the happy couple smiled at him in thanks, Draco couldn’t help but think about Granger. He wondered if she would ever smile like that again. If she would ever be able to look at him with love in her eyes as she once had. 

Charlie raised his glass. “To George and Angelina. May you have a long and happy life together.” 

Draco joined them in a toast before they all made their way into the dining room for the meeting. 

When the meeting began, Shacklebolt informed everyone that they had caught the imposter and that he was being transported to Azkaban. The Order members cheered in delight at the news, happy that they could sleep a bit easier knowing the man responsible for the attacks was behind bars. 

Security would be reinforced on Headquarters and all safe houses, and new safety measures would go into place to ensure that no other imposters infiltrated their ranks. But everyone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief to know that the guilty party had been caught at last. 

After the meeting, most of the members celebrated their recent victory by raiding George’s stash of liquor in the kitchen. But Draco had far more important things on his mind than getting drunk. 

He found Granger in the living room with Potter and Ginny. The happy couple laughed loudly together, but Granger’s lips barely twitched up. As if sensing his gaze, she turned her head in his direction. Something flashed in her eyes that he couldn’t place, and he felt his heart stutter in his chest. 

He jerked his head, urging her to follow him to a more private place to speak. She said a few words to Potter and Ginny, then she rose to her feet and followed him into the quiet foyer. 

For the first time in days, she spoke to him first. “Are you alright?”

Draco blinked as she came to stand before him. 

“I mean… Theo… He’s your friend, right?”

He clenched his jaw and stared at his shoes. “He _was,_ yeah.” 

Warmth on his arm, and it took him a moment to realise that she was touching him. His eyes snapped to hers and he saw love there. Pity, but also love. 

Heart swelling, he reached out, hands flying to the nape of her neck as he stepped into her. 

Her head turned, her brow furrowing as she dodged his kiss. “Draco…” 

Disappointment bloomed in his chest as he dropped his forehead against hers. “It’s been a week, Granger. How long are you going to punish me?” 

Her eyes went wide and she pulled back from him slightly. “I’m not trying to punish you!” she protested. 

The irritation he felt towards her was quickly growing into anger. “Really? Could have fooled me.” 

“Draco…” Granger shook her head. “It wasn’t my intention to make you feel guilty for what you did. It was necessary, and I understand that. That’s not—I just—” Her hands lifted to rest on his elbows as she took a deep breath, blowing it out against his chest like a sigh. 

“You told me a long time ago about what Dolohov trained you to do. I was never under any delusions about who you were or what you had done. You were upfront about it, and I appreciate that. This… time that I need is my own fault. Logically I knew what you were capable of, but seeing it with my own eyes…” She shivered. “I guess I just thought I’d never see you that way. I know how much you hated it all, so I guess I just thought you’d hesitate more. It just seemed so… easy for you. And I know you were trained for it, but… I’m sorry. It was just hard to watch.” She didn’t pull away from him, but wouldn’t meet his eye. 

Draco swallowed. He could feel the warmth from her body so close to his. She was so close to being in his arms again, but something was still holding her back. “Do you know why I told you not to kill anyone unless you had to?” 

She took a deep breath in, her head shaking side to side in his hands. 

“You’ve never killed before,” he began. 

“I could have—“ 

He cut her off, squeezing his eyes shut. “I know you could have. I wasn’t worried that you wouldn’t be capable. I—” He paused, collecting his thoughts. “You’ve never killed before, so you don’t know what it feels like.” 

Granger pulled back, her brow furrowed slightly as her eyes flitted between his. 

She was curious, he could tell. And perhaps telling her was the only way to make her truly understand. 

“It happens the instant the person dies,” he began, forcing the words out even though the twisting in his gut begged him to stop. “The force of it hits you like a Crucio to the chest. It cracks you open. Then it’s like sharp claws sinking into your heart, shredding you. It spreads from there, through every vein and every bone and every organ. Like tar, weighing you down, choking you. And then the pain stops for a while, and your body feels kind of numb, but the claws have reached your brain. They dig in deep, infecting everything you once loved about yourself like poison. That poison never really goes away. With each kill it just seeps a little deeper until it’s a part of you.” 

Granger was trembling, her breath coming out in shaky puffs. He opened his eyes to see that she was crying softly. Her fingers curled into his arms and she leaned into him, her forehead resting on his chest for just a breath before she straightened back up, as if determined to face him head on as he bared his soul to her. 

“So you see,” he continued, “My soul has been damaged for a long time now. I’ll never be whole again. But you…” He trailed his thumb over her cheek, catching a tear. “You’re perfect. And I would kill a thousand men if it meant saving you from feeling like that just once.” 

Her lip quivered. A sob erupted from her lips as more tears escaped her eyes. “Oh, Draco…” she cried, sliding her hands up his arms to grip his biceps. She tilted her head up, stepping into him with parted lips. 

With a bang, the door flew open. Draco swung around, pushing Granger behind him and pulling his wand in a flash. He half expected to see an army of Death Eaters charging into the house, but instead, John Dawlish staggered in. He was cradling his arm, which seemed to be twisted at an odd angle, and he was bleeding from somewhere, leaving a dark red trail on the white marble foyer floor. 

With a gasp, Granger pushed past him, helping the Auror into the closest chair in the sitting room and pulling her wand. She turned to Draco, eyes still teary and full of fear. “Get Kingsley.”

Draco waved his wand and slammed the front door shut again before turning and bolting to the office. Shacklebolt looked up in surprise when Draco burst inside. 

“Dawlish is here, sir,” Draco announced, heart pounding wildly in his chest. “He’s injured.” 

The Minister was on his feet in a flash, tearing out of the office on Draco’s heels and following to the sitting room. 

“John, are you alright?” Shacklebolt’s voice was near panic, concern evident all over his face. 

Dawlish grunted in pain and ground his teeth as Granger murmured a spell and his arm cracked loudly as it twisted back into its proper shape. “I’ll be alright, Minister. But two of the other Aurors weren’t as lucky. I’m sorry, Minister. I don’t know how he did it. I’ve never seen wandless magic like that in my life. And our bonds were supposed to suppress him.” 

Draco’s blood ran cold. Something had happened while they had tried to transport Theo. Two Aurors were dead, and Theo had used unknown magic to do it. 

“I only just came to and managed to Apparate back here,” Dawlish explained. 

“John,” Shacklebolt began, his voice heavy with worry. “What’s happened to the prisoner? Is he safely in Azkaban?” 

Dawlish grimaced as Granger whispered more spells over his bleeding leg. “No, Minister. Theodore Nott has escaped.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates on Mondays  
> Next chapter posts August 24th
> 
> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/graceful-lioness) or on the Dept. of Fanfiction Discord server in my channel.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every week, I get so overwhelmed by all of your love and support! I really appreciate your reads, kudos, and comments so much! 
> 
> AlphaBet love to BiscuitsForPotter and DisenchantedGlow.

The news that Theo had escaped Auror custody brought a torrential downpour of panic and terror on Headquarters. Most of the Order members were still at the house after the meeting, but those who had returned to their safe houses were quickly called back. Shacklebolt verified the identity of each person individually, and no one was permitted to leave the dining room while Shacklebolt and Potter painstakingly searched the house room by room in search of dark artifacts or hiding Death Eaters. 

Draco and Shacklebolt spent several hours working on the wards on the building. Meanwhile, Granger set to work turning the dining room into a makeshift potions lab. She assembled a small team to begin brewing everything they might need in the event of an attack. Dittany, Polyjuice antidote, Veritaserum. Some of these potions took days to brew, but she got started as quickly as she could. 

Potter gathered a team of trusted members to sweep and secure the remaining safe houses. Their main goal was to retrieve everyone’s personal items and any important information kept on site and bring everything back to Headquarters for processing. 

Draco asked Shacklebolt if it might not be wise to move Headquarters to a different location temporarily. Surely even with the strongest wards, it was only a matter of time before Theo found a way to get himself and the other Death Eaters inside. 

“If we had another property that was large enough, I would certainly be interested in that. However, all of our safe houses are much too small to house everyone, and besides, the security is already strongest here.” Shacklebolt’s tone was stern, but a bit remorseful as he stared up at the large townhouse from the back garden. 

Draco nodded and returned to the wards. He thought of the Manor. It was certainly large enough for everyone and it had the strongest wards that magic could create. But unfortunately, the Death Eaters had called it home for too long. There was no telling how long it would take and how difficult it would be to rework the wards to repel them. Besides, Dolohov had apparently set it ablaze last year after Draco had defected, and he had no idea how extensive the damage was. 

For all he knew, there was no Malfoy Manor left. His stomach twisted. With his father gone and his mother abroad, the house was the only thing he had left of his family. So many memories there were now gone forever. Tarnished as it was with dark magic, it had been his home. Swallowing, he pushed his grief away. 

They worked well into the night. By the time Draco finished with the wards, he was sure that even _he_ would have trouble breaking into them. He only hoped it was enough to keep Theo out. 

“Access is now only permitted to those currently inside Headquarters.” Draco explained his work to Shacklebolt as he wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers, feeling shaky from hours of magical exertion. “Anyone not on that list will need to be escorted inside by someone who is. If you prefer, I can limit access even further by restricting the list of who can do the escorting to a select few.” 

Shacklebolt tapped his chin with one long finger. “Perhaps that would be wise. Yes, let’s limit it to only a small group.” 

“If you provide me with a list, I can do that rather quickly.” Draco tilted his head thoughtfully. “That will mean, however, that any members coming in from abroad or other assignments will need to meet one of those people at another location to gain access to Headquarters.” 

“I still think that’s for the best. Nott has had contact with virtually everyone in the Order over the past few months. Having a small team of people to check identities before letting them in would be the most prudent.” Shacklebolt waved his wand and produced a short list. He checked it over quickly before handing it to Draco. 

“I agree, sir.” Draco looked at the list. 

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Harry Potter_

_Arthur Weasley_

_Bill Weasley_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Hermione Granger_

_Draco Malfoy_

Draco blinked, shocked to see his own name listed among what he had come to think of as “the inner circle.” 

“Sir,” he began, his voice faltering. “There’s no need for me to be included just because I’m doing the wards. I would understand if—” 

“You have proven your trustworthiness time and time again, Malfoy. There is no one on that list that I would hesitate to trust with my life or the life on anyone in the Order. However, if you do not wish to be included, it is your right to exclude yourself.” 

Draco swallowed, unsure what the right thing to do was. He had made so many mistakes in the past year. Trusting Theo. _Not_ trusting Pansy. Attacking the Death Eater safe house. He knew he would never do anything to purposely put the Order in danger, but if he couldn’t trust his instincts, then he couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t be fooled by Theo somehow. 

But then again, Shacklebolt trusted him. Trusted his instincts. For the first time in a long while, he felt needed. 

After a moment’s consideration, he waved his wand over the list. The names burned bright gold and then lifted off the page, flying across the garden where they hit the invisible barrier around Headquarters. They multiplied and scattered along the wards, shimmering like a golden shield around the house. He watched as his own name danced along, just next to Granger’s for a brief moment before the names disappeared, protecting the home though they could no longer be seen. 

“And what if one of those listed is Confunded or placed under the Imperius Curse?” Shacklebolt asked, pacing around the garden. 

Draco shook his head. “I’ve added a ‘Free Will’ clause to the wards. If anyone tries to enter while under the influence of suggestive curses or spells, the wards will reject them. Even if they are on the list. Even you, Minister. As Secret Keeper, you have more access to the wards than anyone, but I have ensured that you will not be allowed in if the Death Eaters try to coerce you.”

“Very well done, Draco. Impressive work,” Shacklebolt praised with a slight smile. 

Draco checked his watch. It was nearing four in the morning, but Headquarters was still bustling with activity. From the garden, he could see lights shining through curtains and hear the sounds of clattering pots and pans from the kitchen. It was far from the usual silence that accompanied such early hours of the day, but what was usual anymore? Draco understood their restlessness. Who could sleep with such danger closing in around them? 

“Sir,” Draco began, clenching his jaw and staring at his shoes. “Forgive me if this is out of line, but I can’t stop thinking about all the things we should have asked Theo when we had the chance. Dolohov’s plans, the location of their safe houses... There are so many things we don’t know that could have helped us.” 

Shacklebolt nodded, his eyes sweeping over the garden. “I thought of that as well. But now that he has escaped, I’m glad we didn’t ask him those things.” 

“Sir?” 

The Minister looked at Draco with soft, thoughtful eyes and pursed lips. “If Theodore Nott had revealed the location of Dolohov and the rest of the Death Eaters, they would have certainly moved their entire operation once they were told what we know.” 

“But we still would have known. We could have launched an attack before they moved.” 

“A rushed operation might have led to several deaths on our side. This way, Theo will certainly tell Dolohov that we know nothing. When, you see, that couldn’t be further from the truth.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“We have our eyes on several Death Eater safe houses. Our scouting teams have been locating them and monitoring activities there. If they moved, it would be a major setback for our organisation.” 

Draco was impressed. It seemed that Shacklebolt hadn’t laid all of his cards on the table. The man was stoking far more fires than Draco knew were even lit. 

“Is there anything else you can think of for the wards, sir?” Draco asked, his tone heavy with exhaustion. He wanted to make himself available to ensure the safety of everyone, but after staying up all night, he felt tired and drained of his magic. 

“I believe that should suffice for tonight. Thank you. If you have any additional ideas for security, I’d like for you to find me at once to discuss them.” 

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” With a nod, Draco pocketed his wand and walked up the back steps and into the kitchen. 

Several groups of Order members had formed, all bent low together to discuss certain tactics. A few people were eating and talking in low voices in the kitchen. Draco grabbed an apple and a bread roll and continued into the living room, where Potter was instructing Charlie, Bill, Angelina, and Lee on guard duty. The Auror nodded at Draco as he passed through, but didn’t stop speaking. 

Draco peeked into the dining room, where Granger was furiously adding lacewing flies to a bubbling cauldron, her hair twice its normal size. Dean, Ginny, Percy Weasley, and Alicia Spinnet were there as well, stirring potions and adding ingredients with unwavering focus. 

Like a magnet, Draco found himself drawn to Granger’s side. “Can I help?” 

She looked up in surprise. “I thought you were working on the wards.” 

“We’ve just finished.” 

Her eyes danced over him, brows furrowing in concern. “You look exhausted. You should get some rest.” 

Draco shook his head. “There’s too much to do.” 

“We’ve got a handle on the potions for now, but you really should get some sleep. Here…” She turned away from him to reach into a small cabinet. After withdrawing a small phial of deep purple potion, she turned back and held it out to him. 

“Dreamless Sleep? Granger, I can’t.” 

“I’ve altered it. It’s my own design. You’ll wake up alert if you need to. If there’s an attack or something, you’ll be wide awake. Not even the tiniest hint of grogginess. But you _need_ to sleep,” she insisted, thrusting the phial into his palm. 

Draco looked at her warily. He had an odd feeling about going to sleep when everyone else was still awake. Besides, he didn’t even know what room to sleep in. He’d been stationed at the Stewart house this morning. All of his belongings were still there as far as he knew. The recovery teams may not have gotten to the tiny, new safe house yet. “What about you?” 

Granger waved her hand flippantly. “I’ll sleep before too long. Just wanted to get a couple of Polyjuice antidotes done first.” 

Draco frowned. He wanted to finish their earlier conversation. But he supposed that romance was a bit trivial in the grand scheme of things. He could tell that she was singularly focused on the war effort, and would probably not respond well to being forced into another tense conversation about their rocky relationship. 

“You’ve done enough for the Order today, Draco. _Eat_.” She nodded at the food in his hands. “Then get some sleep. If you still want to brew potions tomorrow, I’m sure I can put you to work.” She offered him a tight smile before turning back to her cauldron. 

Perhaps she was right. As he turned away, exhaustion started creeping into the edges of his brain, making everything a bit fuzzy. Draco shuffled out of the dining room and down the corridor toward the stairs. Charlie stood by the door on vigilant watch, wand in hand. He smiled at him, but didn’t say anything as Draco made his way up the stairs. 

As he wondered which bedroom to choose, he realised through his slightly foggy brain that someone had cast charms outside each door, designating room assignments with floating silver letters that shone in the darkness. The first bedroom bore the names _Hermione Granger_ and _Ginny Weasley._ The room next to it read _George Weasley_ and _Charlie Weasley._ Draco continued down the corridor, looking for his name until he found it listed beside _Harry Potter_. 

He swung the door open and recognised the first room he ever stayed in at Headquarters. He’d shared the room with Potter then as well, and the boy wonder had refused to rest for fear of being murdered in his sleep. 

He shut the door behind him and stared at the beds, wondering which one to take, before he noticed his rucksack laying next to the bed by the window. The Stewart House had been recovered after all. Draco reached into the bag to retrieve his green blanket. He spread it out on the bed, kicked off his shoes, stripped down to his pants, and climbed under the covers.

He ate quickly in bed, forcing the apple and bread down even as his stomach twisted to reject them. Then, he uncorked the phial of Granger’s potion and drank it down, chasing it with water before he laid back on the pillows and pulled the bed covers up to his chin. 

Granger’s lumpy, green blanket was soft against his cheek and he took a deep breath, inhaling what was left of her scent before the potion pulled him quickly under into a deep and dreamless sleep. 

* * *

Later that morning, the house was still loud and bustling with energy when Draco emerged from the bedroom at nine-thirty. He briefly wondered if anyone else had slept, but then he noticed how many of the Order members were milling about in pajamas. 

He was pleased to see that Granger was one of these people. Her soft, pink pajama trousers had become all too familiar to him over the past few weeks, and though she had a large cardigan pulled tight around her middle as she sipped from a steaming cup of coffee, he could guess that the tank top underneath was the matching one. 

Draco was glad that she’d forced him to sleep. He seemed to be a bit better-rested than several other Order members. Potter, for example, was still in the robes he’d worn the previous evening, and he and Shacklebolt flitted from room to room, talking in urgent tones as they both sipped from their coffee cups. 

The next several days passed in the same way. People slept at odd hours. It was a quickly established rule that there was no speaking or excessive noise allowed on the upper levels of Headquarters to accommodate for altered sleep schedules. Though Draco shared a room with Potter, they were rarely in it at the same time. Draco did his best to sleep at night as usual, and Potter was typically asleep when Draco woke up in the morning and would sleep until noon or so. 

Draco kept adding provisions onto the wards. Any reasonable witch or wizard would call them impenetrable, but Draco knew better. 

All wards could be broken. It was just a matter of time and skill. By the end of the week, Draco had lost count of the number of wards on the building. If they added too many more, even the Muggles would be able to sense the magic buzzing around the house. 

But, he supposed, a small breach of the Statue of Secrecy was a small price to pay for keeping the Order safe. 

After three days, Draco still hadn’t had much chance to speak with Granger. For starters, she was rarely alone. And when she was alone, she was typically bent over a cauldron or a book with such focus that Draco knew better than to try to speak with her. He spent his time helping her with potions in silence or reading books on advanced wards to see if he had missed any possible protections. 

Headquarters was crowded. With all of the safe houses shut down, everyone who was typically spread out was confined to one household. Some of the members maintained their permanent residences, such as Arthur and Molly Weasley and Bill and Fleur. And while the other Weasleys would typically stay with their parents to create space, Shacklebolt was attempting to cut down on the number of people coming and going from Headquarters, so most of the Weasleys who were helping with guard duty or potions or other missions stayed on site. 

They held meetings daily to update each other on various goings-on around Headquarters and other news of the war. 

The teams that had been stationed abroad returned to Headquarters as well, making the house even more crowded than it had been when Theo first escaped custody. Camp beds were set up wherever there was room. No one had a bedroom to themselves. Several rooms held three or four people. For the time being, Draco and Potter were the only ones in their room. Weasley had opted to stay with his brothers rather than subject himself to Draco’s presence. And that suited Draco just fine. 

As much as Draco hated having Weasley back in the house, everyone was so busy that he hardly had to see the ginger menace. He was pleased to note that Granger hardly gave Weasley the time of day. She seemed so singularly focused on her potions that she barely spoke to anyone for longer than a few minutes. 

This didn’t stop Weasley from glaring at Draco and Granger when the two were brewing potions together or eating at the same time. 

The worst thing that the abroad teams brought back with them—even worse than Ronald Weasley—was the news that Death Eaters and their newly-recruited supporters were travelling to Britain en masse. Huge numbers of dark witches and wizards were entering the country and scattering to various known Death Eater safe houses. 

The known Death Eater properties were beginning to show more activity. Scouting teams had reported increased Death Eater movement at the heavily warded Lestrange Manor and Yaxley’s house. Draco wasn’t sure how many Death Eater safe houses there were, but he was willing to bet that these locations were just small samples of what was happening out there. 

He was sure that Dolohov had been recruiting heavily, trying to strong-arm foreign witches and wizards into pledging their support for the High Minister. Although he wished he knew what their numbers were like, he could really only guess. 

There was a real sense throughout the entire Order that a battle was fast approaching, one that would guarantee massive casualties on both sides and perhaps sway the war in one way or another. 

After the Saturday meeting, Draco spent an hour or so checking the wards on the house while Shacklebolt met with a small group of high-ranking Order members. Then he brewed potions with the brewing team for the remainder of the evening. Granger was conspicuously absent, and Draco wondered if she was in the meeting with Shacklebolt. When he had finished his batch of Dittany, he extinguished the flame under his cauldron and made his way upstairs for the night. He passed Lee at the front door on guard duty and sent him a nod. 

The bedroom was quiet and dark when he closed the door and he made his way to his bed. He shed his clothes as he went and fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

He wasn’t sure how much later it was when he was awakened by the sound of his bedroom door opening and closing. Assuming that it was Potter coming to bed, he barely opened his eyes before drifting back off. 

The sound of a feminine voice silencing the room made him stir, and the next thing he knew, a warm body was sliding into bed next to him. He blinked, forcing himself into consciousness as soft curls brushed against his shoulder. 

“Granger?” 

She didn’t reply, but her scent surrounded him as she nestled under his arm, her warm hand splaying out on his chest. 

“What are you—?” He was cut off by her lips pressing gently against his. 

Warmth bloomed in his heart and spread through his body quickly as he responded to her unexpected touch. Letting his fingers delve into her curls, he pulled her closer and returned the kiss urgently. 

Was this a dream? 

He had dreamed of this many times, but it had never felt like this. So warm, so soft, so real. “Granger…” It fell from his lips like a sigh against her mouth, and her fingers curled around his bicep as she kissed him once more. 

Her leg shifted over his, and he could feel the heat coming from her center even as cold toes grazed his calf. With a shiver, he dragged his hands down her back to the curve of her waist, pulling her flush against him. 

Was it possible for one’s heart to explode from elation? She was here. In his arms again after such a cold absence. He could feel the warmth of her through her thin tank top, and he let his fingers dip to the sliver of skin between her top and the waistband of her trousers. She shivered against him, and he felt his cock twitch in anticipation. 

She was so warm, so responsive to his touch. And she had come to him. What would she allow him tonight? Was it too much to ask to be inside of her once more? He didn’t want to scare her off by assuming. 

But then her hips shifted, and she rolled her center against his hip, a breathy sigh escaping her lips. 

Feeling bolder, he let his hands dip beneath her top, dragging it up her sides to palm the skin of her back. 

She lifted herself away from him, and for a brief moment, he thought she was about to leave. But then she swung one leg over him to straddle his hips, and she pulled her top off slowly and let it fall to the floor. 

Her pale breasts were bathed in moonlight. Her curls fell wild around her shoulders, and her honey colored eyes stared straight into him for the first time in days. 

Draco couldn’t breathe for his love of her. He let his fingers dance up her thighs to her hips, but he didn’t dare move too much for fear of her rejection. 

She reached up, sweeping her hair to one side before bending low over him to kiss him tenderly. Her nipples brushed his chest, pebbled in the cool night air. 

He couldn’t stop his hands from dragging up her ribs to brush against her breasts. She smiled against his mouth as his thumbs circled her nipples, and he tilted his head up, kissing her through her smile. 

Her hips rolled against him, and he felt his erection pressed against her center, hard and aching. Would she let him take her? 

Warm hands dragged down his chest to the waistband of his pants and sent a jolt through him. She dipped a hand inside, lifting her hips to reach him. He groaned as her fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking him and squeezing him as their kiss grew more urgent. 

Feeling bolder, he let his fingers dip into her pajama trousers, grabbing hold of the globes of her arse as she brushed her thumb over the weeping head of his cock. 

All too soon, her hand pulled away from him, but only to try to pull his boxers down. He grabbed her waist firmly, dragging her down so that he could climb above her. He rid himself of his pants before reaching for her bottoms, pulling them off her legs and then dragging her knickers down as well. 

She reached for him, encouraging him to settle between her open thighs as her hands wandered reverently over his chest and shoulders. Their eyes met briefly, and then she pulled his face down, kissing him deeply as she pulled his hips close. 

Draco reached down, brushing his fingers against her, feeling how wet she was for him. Dripping. Desperate. He circled her clit until she was moaning and gasping into his mouth before he slowly slid into her. 

Draco had hardly allowed himself to think of this—being inside of her again—since they’d fallen apart. It was too painful to think that it may never happen again. But this was bliss. The warmth, the softness, the way she arched against him with a moan when he filled her up, everything about her was perfect. He kissed along her jaw to attach his lips to the spot just below her ear. 

Her nails dug painfully into his shoulders as he bit down, sucking hard to mark her, but he didn’t dare stop. She was his, and he was hers, and he wanted the world to know. 

He set a slow, deep pace, feeling their bodies move together as one. Her hands were everywhere, lips everywhere as he poured his love into her with everything he had. 

As broken as he felt with everyone else, she was the only one who made him feel whole.

He tilted his hips, knowing that it would make the base of his cock drag against her clit with each thrust. 

She cried out, arching her back as she clutched at his back, pulling him closer. 

He kept going, determined to show her that he was worth it. Worth the pain. Worth looking past who he was… what he was capable of. 

He kissed down her neck, snaking one arm under her waist to pull her closer to him. Seeing stars, he pressed into her deep and slow, and she released a mewling cry with each thrust. 

He was close, but he was determined to get her off first. He had to prove to her… make her stay… never let her go. 

_“Hermione…”_

She gasped in his ear and her fingers delved into his hair at the nape of his neck, gripping him hard. 

Moving faster, he jerked his hips forward, being sure to hit her clit each time. Her breath became more erratic, puffing against his shoulder and neck, punctuated by her gasps and moans. 

She cried out, arching her back as her legs quivered with her release. Draco groaned, losing himself to the blissful delirium she caused in him. After only a minute more, he came with a grunt, feeling his cock pulse and twitch within her fluttering walls. 

She still hadn’t said a word, but he couldn’t stop from speaking loving sentiments against her neck as he peppered her with kisses. 

Although she was quiet when he pulled out of her and moved to lie flat on the bed next to her, she curled into his side under his arm like she used to, and he pulled her close. His heart warmed as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and she kissed his chest in return. 

He knew better than to ruin the moment with words, so he just held her tightly as she let her fingers dance along his chest. Soon, the warmth of her body and the sound of her even breathing lulled him to sleep. 

And when he woke up in the morning, she was gone, and the bed was cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Monday  
> Next chapter posts: August 31st
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/graceful-lioness)  
> Or come chat with us on the Dept. of Fanfiction [Discord](https://discord.gg/2XJV8A) server on my channel! It gets a little wild in there. Come join in on the fun!


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! So I got a lot of comments on the last chapter of people wondering if it was someone Polyjuiced as Hermione. I can confirm that it was 100% Hermione. There would have been a TON of different tags on this story if it was someone else. I just want to put everyone's mind at ease that it was absolutely Hermione, and not someone pretending to be her. I put Draco through a lot in this story, but I wouldn't do that to my poor bb! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one! 
> 
> AlphaBet love to BiscuitsForPotter and DisenchantedGlow

Potter lay in the next bed over, his chest expanding and contracting with each deep breath of slumber. Draco sat in his cold bed for several minutes trying to quell the storm of emotions swirling through his body. 

Granger had left. She’d come to him, gotten what she needed from him—whatever that was—and slipped out before dawn. Rationally, Draco surmised that she left because she hadn’t wanted to put Potter in an uncomfortable situation. But his wounded pride was twisting into something akin to rage. Despite Granger’s warmth over the past few days, they had yet to truly mend fences. And still, she’d come to him for some kind of comfort last night. 

_Why?_

_Why now?_

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the painful sinking in his chest. Analysing Granger’s motives would only drive him insane. He chose to focus instead on the hope that accompanied the knowledge that she _had_ come to him. Whether that meant she was ready to move past what she’d seen, it certainly seemed promising. 

Pushing his emotions down, he stood from the bed and quietly pulled on his pants before heading for the shower. Regretfully, he washed away Granger’s scent from his body, trying to scrub his mind of her as well. He wouldn’t be able to focus on his duties today if the smell of her still lingered on his skin. 

After his shower, he returned to his room to dress. Potter’s bed was empty and sunlight was streaming in through the windows. He could hear chatter drifting up the stairs from the main level. 

He made his way downstairs and discovered a house mad with activity. Order members were bustling about, speaking frantically to one another. 

“What’s going on?” Draco asked Ginny as she passed by him. 

“Kingsley just called a meeting. Apparently it’s quite urgent. Is there anyone else upstairs?” She craned her neck to look to the dark upper level. 

“I’m not sure. Probably,” Draco replied, stepping past her, his eyes seeking brown curls. 

Everyone was filing into the dining room, and Draco followed. 

Granger was already seated at the table next to Potter. Their heads were bent together as they spoke quietly. Weasley leaned forward from his seat against the wall behind the two, and Draco heard him say, “What’s going on?” 

It gave Draco great satisfaction to see Granger clench her jaw and turn to the redhead with a scowl. “Just _wait,_ Ronald.” 

Suppressing a smirk, Draco took his own seat. 

As the room filled, chairs were pushed closer together to accommodate the increased number of people. Draco was squished shoulder to shoulder with Ginny and Dean. The last few stragglers were forced to stand in front of the closed doors. Draco leaned forward with his elbows on his knees to grant himself and his neighbors more room. 

Shacklebolt entered, pushing past people as he made his way to the front. “Quiet down, everyone.” 

The frantic whispering in the room diminished, and in its place settled a tense silence. Everyone’s wide eyes were focused intently on the Minister. No one seemed to even breathe as they waited for Shacklebolt’s announcement. 

“Alright,” he began, looking around the room. “Thank you all for assembling so quickly. We don’t have a lot of time to waste, so I’ll just get straight to it.” 

Draco’s heart quickened. 

“Last night, our scouting team reported that a large number of Death Eaters has amassed at the Yaxley property. It is our belief that they will plan to attack us within the next few days. There are still small numbers stationed at their other safe houses, but they are likely attempting to organize a siege.” 

A flutter of whispers accompanied the nervous glances of everyone in the room. Draco glanced at Granger. Her eyes were fixed on the Minister, but unlike most of the people in the room, she didn’t seem surprised. Nor did Potter. 

“So, I met with a small team late last night, and we’ve decided that the best course of action would be to beat them to the punch.” 

The murmuring in the room grew louder. George’s voice cut across the din. “So you mean…” 

The Minister raised his voice to be heard. “We attack this afternoon.” 

Granger still had not reacted. She kept her eyes trained on Shacklebolt, waiting for the chatter in the room to die down so that more instruction could be given. 

Realisation swept over Draco like a chill. 

_She knew._

She’d been in the small team meeting last night. She knew they were going to be battling today. 

That’s why she’d come to him. In case she never got another chance. In case they didn’t survive the day. 

She’d come to say goodbye. 

Draco felt cold. 

If he’d known… would he have done anything differently? Perhaps he would have taken his time more, or held her longer, or… 

No. He shook those thoughts away. It made little difference now. He had to focus. There was going to be a battle. They would face countless Death Eaters today. Death Eaters who wanted them both dead—perhaps even more than anyone else in this room. 

He would do whatever it took to keep her alive today, and then they would talk. They would have all the time in the world to talk. 

Shacklebolt spoke loudly to quiet the group of energised witches and wizards. “We have a lot of details to go over, so I need everyone to calm down and listen closely.” 

A hush fell over the crowd, but everyone seemed to almost lean in towards the Minister in anticipation. 

For several minutes, Shacklebolt spoke about the plan, strategies, and tactical details of the day. Draco would be sent first with Potter under the Invisibility Cloak. They would break the wards and then send for the rest of the Order using some kind of coin that Potter pulled from his pocket. It looked like an ordinary galleon to Draco, but when Shacklebolt said that it was Granger’s design he trusted that he wouldn’t need to ask questions. 

Draco assured the Minister that he would be able to break past the wards, but that he couldn’t guarantee that it would happen within a specific timeframe. If the Death Eaters were smart, they would have increased the security of their wards since Draco’s last attack on their safe house. And with Theo free, Draco was sure that at least one intelligent Death Eater was whispering in Dolohov’s ear. 

“The scouting team has gathered some information for us, but we cannot guarantee the layout of the house, as wards have been in place for years. They estimate that there are at least thirty high-ranking Death Eaters inside, including Antonin Dolohov,” Shacklebolt said, his eyes glinting dangerously at the mention of the High Minister. He glanced around the room, taking a moment to rest his eyes on several people, Draco included. “He is the main target today. Consider him Undesirable Number One. If we can remove Dolohov from play, it is our hope that the Death Eaters will crumble. Perhaps we can gain a victory in their confusion.” 

Several people nodded, and Draco wondered if they were each hoping to be the one to incapacitate Dolohov in one way or another. Potter had taken down The Dark Lord, but the person who took down Dolohov would be granted similar glory. Draco didn’t particularly care about any of that, or even killing Dolohov for that matter. His main priority today was…

“Theodore Nott is Undesirable Number Two,” Shacklebolt announced as if reading Draco’s mind. “He is extremely powerful and is capable of dangerous wandless magic. He must be incapacitated on sight. If he is conscious, he is considered armed whether he has a wand or not. Is that understood?” 

The Minister continued down the list, reading the names of the highest priority Death Eaters. Yaxley was third. Greyback was fourth. And Macnair was fifth. 

“Everyone will be given a Portkey which will transport them to and from Headquarters, and another one which will take you to and from a holding cell in the Ministry. If you stun a Death Eater and have the opportunity to transport them immediately, do so. If you do not have that opportunity, well… use your best judgement on how to deal with the situation in order to keep yourself and your fellow Order members alive and unharmed.” Shacklebolt closed the folder of high-ranking Death Eaters and clasped his hands together on the table. 

“Sir,” Bill Weasley piped up, his freckled face quite pale. “Do you mean to imply that the use of deadly force…?” 

Shacklebolt cleared his throat. “Approved.” 

No one spoke. 

“Each person will give a detailed report of their actions today following the battle. I will conduct these personally. Or…” He paused, pursing his lips tightly for a moment. “Or the next highest ranking Order member will conduct them.” 

Draco felt a chill run over him. The Minister was making arrangements in the event of his death. Draco had never considered that Shacklebolt might not survive the war. The man was so stoic and strong. He seemed untouchable. Draco knew that the Minister was a skilled dueler, but perhaps he was also aware that if Dolohov was the Order’s main target, Shacklebolt was likely theirs. 

For the remainder of the hour before the meeting was dismissed, Shacklebolt designated teams to sweep the Death Eater property together. There may have only been thirty at Yaxley’s house, but the moment the attack began, Death Eaters would likely pour in from all their other locations.

And there was no telling how many would join their ranks at that point. 

Shacklebolt also sent coded messages to Order allies around Britain, and according to him, they would be arriving throughout the day to join the cause and offer support. Granger reported that she had contacted a few of her trusted coworkers from St. Mungo’s who would be assisting them at Headquarters later that day to set up triage for the wounded. Draco briefly hoped that she would be staying with them. After all, she was best when she was Healing. 

But his hopes were dashed. “I will be on the battlefield with everyone.” She spoke with an air of bravery and selflessness and every other stupid Gryffindor quality she possessed. “If you find yourself in need of medical help and cannot reach your Portkey to return you to Headquarters, send up red sparks and I will do my best to find you.” 

“How can we ensure that these Portkeys won’t be used by the wrong people?” Angelina piped up. “If one of us is killed and they find it in our pockets, they’ll have access to Headquarters.” 

Shacklebolt answered from the head of the table. “We will have two guards stationed at the Portkey landing area. The moment you arrive, you must say the word _‘Hinkypunk’_ clearly and loudly. This is how they will know that you haven’t been Polyjuiced. If you fail to do so, you’ll be stunned and incarcerated until later interrogation.” 

Several people closed their eyes and mouthed “Hinkypunk” as if trying to commit the word to memory. 

“If you come across a fellow Order member in the field and have reason to doubt their identity, say the word _‘Niffler.’_ The correct response in return is ‘ _Hippogriff.’_ Hopefully this will cut down on time so that personal questions aren’t needed to verify identities. Do this whenever you let a new person into your ranks. If there is further question of someone’s identity, ask a personal question. We don’t know how likely it is that they will try to use Polyjuice to infiltrate our ranks again.

“We know that the plan isn’t perfect,” Shacklebolt pressed on, his voice heavy with the severity of the situation. “Mistakes will undoubtedly be made. But it is our hope to minimize Order casualties as much as possible. Myself and the small team were up quite late last night in order to plan out as many details as we could. But as we all know, plans can only take us so far. The reality of war changes things quite quickly. Stay on your guard today. Try not to get separated from your team. Look after one another.” 

Draco looked around the group of frightened, but resolved Order members. How many of them would be watching his back today? He wondered if any of them would bother blocking a hex for him. His eyes settled on Granger. There were a few people he would try to protect. People he now called his friends. Ginny, Luna, and Potter certainly. But if the choice was between anyone and Granger, he knew he’d pick Granger every time, even throwing himself in an Avada’s path if it meant saving her. 

He clenched his jaw. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. 

He thought of watching her duel all those months ago from that high window in that small village when the Death Eaters had attacked. He’d been able to predict her every move because of her careful and precise wand technique. He wondered if any other Death Eaters had picked up on her weaknesses on the battlefield. She was powerful, but not without flaws. 

“Draco,” Shacklebolt said, snapping Draco from his thoughts. “You and Harry will leave here at two o’clock sharp. And you’ll update your progress every fifteen minutes whether you’ve broken the wards or not, understood?” 

Draco and Potter nodded. 

The Minister pressed on, addressing the entire Order this time. “I need everyone else ready by two as well. If they don’t check in by two fifteen, we’ll Apparate to the site and begin our assault immediately whether the wards are down or not. The element of surprise is in our favor. We can only hope that we break their wards and can cause some damage to their ranks before their reinforcements arrive.” 

Draco checked his watch. It was nearly noon. That gave him just two hours to prepare. Potter met his gaze from across the table and offered him a quick nod of reassurance. 

His eyes slipped to Granger next, she was looking at him with an oddly peaceful look, as if she was resigned to whatever the day would bring. Good or bad, she had made her peace with it. 

_Fuck that,_ thought Draco. They were going to survive, damnit. And if they both couldn’t, then he would at least be sure that _she_ would survive. 

Shacklebolt wrapped up the team selections and directions for Apparition points for each team so that the Death Eaters could be flanked from all sides. Once all of the pertinent details had been shared, he dismissed the group so that everyone had the opportunity to prepare. 

Draco moved quickly back to his room to change into the proper clothes. His black dragonhide boots, black trousers, and a short sleeve black t-shirt in lieu of his typical jumper. He was likely to die of heat stroke if he wore his jumper in the July heat. 

As he straightened his shirt, Potter entered the room and began changing as well. Draco focused on himself, trying to Occlude away any distractions. He was determined to look out for Granger, yes, but before that could happen he had to break through the wards. Wards that were likely almost as heavy as the ones surrounding Headquarters. 

He spent an hour inspecting a book on advanced wards, not learning anything he didn’t already know, but keeping it fresh in his mind. He then Occluded some more. Pushing everything else down, and drawing only what he knew about wards forward. Potter was in and out of the bedroom several times, never saying anything to Draco, but sometimes eyeing him with uncertainty. Draco barely acknowledged him, focusing on his meditation. 

Finally, Draco was pulled from deep inside his mind by Potter’s serious voice. 

“Malfoy, it’s nearly time.” 

Draco opened his eyes and took in the Auror before him. He was sensibly dressed and already held his wand tightly in hand. There was no fear behind Potter’s eyes, and Draco wondered if he was even capable of feeling it anymore. Potter had never known a life without war. Death and destruction had followed him since his birth. Draco wondered if Harry Potter even cared if he lived or died anymore. He wondered if _he_ cared either. 

Pushing himself to stand, Draco picked up his wand and nodded at Potter. “I’m ready.” 

The two made their way downstairs. Shacklebolt was distributing Portkeys. Each one was wrapped in a handkerchief which was labeled with a red H for Headquarters or a blue M for Ministry. Draco took his and placed one in each pocket, mentally repeating that Headquarters was right and the Ministry was left. 

Next, Percy handed him a phial of the familiar antidote. “Everyone’s required to take one,” he explained. “Just in case.” 

Draco didn’t fancy the idea of feeling the potions effects again. If the Death Eaters unleashed their deadly potion on the battlefield, he wanted to be prepared. He uncorked his phial immediately and tipped the potion into his mouth. Potter followed suit. 

Shacklebolt spoke to Potter and Draco briefly. Reiterating the details of their task. The two nodded along, already having committed these details to memory. Their Portkey would drop them into the wooded area to the west of the house. They would stay under Potter’s cloak for the entire time it took to break the wards. Potter would update the Order on their progress every fifteen minutes. He knew all of this already, but allowed Shacklebolt to repeat everything. 

Once they were dismissed, Draco and Potter made their way towards the front entrance. Potter pulled his cloak from his pocket, but Draco stepped sideways into the sitting room where Granger was standing near Ginny. 

He stopped in front of her and their eyes met. He lifted his hand to cup her cheek gently, his thumb sliding over her cheekbone as her eyes darted back and forth between his. 

“Find me when you arrive and stay with me,” he said quietly. “I’ll keep you safe.” 

Granger’s jaw clenched, and Draco knew that she was fighting the urge to tell him that she didn’t need protection. But whatever battle she was waging with herself ended quickly and she nodded. 

He glanced at her lips, wondering if she would let him kiss her, and while he was debating it she stood on her toes and pressed herself against him. He kissed her hard, his hand delving into her curls. 

Her arms circled his neck, gripping him hard. The clock struck two, and they pulled away. Granger’s eyes were set with determination that he knew was mirrored in his own. She nodded at him again, and he stepped away. 

Potter was pulling away from Ginny as well, and Draco saw the redheaded witch send her boyfriend a wink as the Boy Wonder made his way towards the door. Portkey travel was too conspicuous for the Invisibility Cloak, so they’d decided to Apparate to Yaxley’s property. 

Knowing that looking at her would make leaving that much harder, Draco turned away from Granger and moved to stand next to Potter. With a resolved look at each other, Potter clenched his jaw and threw the Invisibility Cloak over both of them. 

The slippery fabric slid over Draco’s shoulders and down to his ankles. He stepped closer to Potter and watched as the cloak fell to the floor. It was far closer than Draco ever wanted to be to him, but it would have to do for now. Bodies pressed tight together, they shuffled forward and through the door. Once beyond the wards, Potter grabbed Draco’s arm firmly and Disapparated. 

Yaxley’s Estate was on the outskirts of Norwich. The sun was high in the sky when Draco and Potter landed in a small clearing in a wooded area. They both looked around, wands in hand, searching for nearby Death Eaters who may have heard the crack of Apparition. 

When none appeared, Draco watched Potter visibly relax a little. They were alone, and with a silent glance at each other, they headed forward in the direction the map had indicated the house would be. 

Draco peered through the trees, looking for some sign of a residence, but he saw none. “Notice-Me-Not Charm,” he hissed to Potter, who nodded in return. They moved slowly, careful not to make too much noise on the dense undergrowth of the forest floor. Potter was much quieter than Granger, but Draco supposed that they’d both been trained for stealth in a similar way. 

Soon, Draco could feel the hum of magic and he slowed, crossing his arm in front of Potter to make him stop as well. This part would be difficult. If they tried to cross beyond the boundary, the Death Eaters may be alerted to their presence. But without finding exactly where the wards began, Draco had little hope of breaking them. 

A few spells could be used to help find them. Ones which were unlikely to set off any alarms. Draco gripped his wand and released one of them. Colourless and noiseless, it skittered forward across the forest floor and out of sight. Every few steps he repeated the spell, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of the wards. At last, he saw the spell dance across the brush and then it was abruptly deflected by an invisible force. 

He and Potter halted abruptly. Draco looked around. There was no trace of Death Eaters or even what the wards were protecting. He lifted his hands and brought his magic forward, feeling it probe against the barrier. 

“They’re strong,” he murmured to Potter. “It may take a while.” 

“Will you be able to break them?” Potter reached into his pocket and fished out a galleon. 

“Yes, definitely. It’s just a matter of time.” 

Potter tapped the galleon, and Draco watched as tiny words appeared around the edge. Potter pocketed the galleon again and looked at Draco expectantly. 

With a deep breath, Draco set to work. 

The first step was figuring out what kind of wards surrounded the property. He knew that there were cloaking charms and Notice-Me-Nots used. He decided that undoing those would be a good place to start. 

He worked slowly and carefully. The last thing he wanted to do was alert the Death Eaters within that they were there. 

After a few moments of precise spell work, the Notice-Me-Not Charm faded away, and Draco and Potter were able to see the house within. 

Potter inhaled sharply. There were no less than ten Death Eaters roaming the grounds around the enormous Estate home. Draco held his breath as one passed by them. But they seemed not to have noticed that their defenses were being systematically lowered one-by-one. 

Glancing at Potter, Draco nodded. Potter pulled his galleon again and sent another message to the Order before urging Draco to continue. 

The next issue to tackle was finding a way in. He hoped that there would be an obvious weak spot. Casting a variation on his previous spell, he watched the colourless ripple of magic dance along the shield charm in search of a way in. 

These wards were much stronger than the ones he encountered at the other Death Eater safe houses all those months ago. They barely registered the small spell’s presence on them as he poked and prodded them repeatedly. 

He kept going for several minutes, determined not to fail. He wanted this over and done with today. Theo was probably inside, and Draco was itching to find him and raise his wand to his former friend. 

Every fifteen minutes, Potter tapped the galleon with his wand to update the Order. After an hour, he insisted that Draco take a short break. After two hours, he insisted that they sit down. 

“Are you sure you can break them?” Potter asked as Draco sank to his knees. 

Draco glared at the Auror. “Would _you_ like to try?” 

“I’m not the wards expert. You are.” 

“Exactly. So just trust me when I say I can break them. Just be patient. We’re nearly there.” 

Potter was silent for several minutes while Draco continued to work. 

As he worked, Draco noticed Potter shifting uncomfortably next to him. He even opened and closed his mouth several times as if about to speak. 

“What?” Draco hissed, lowering his wand and turning to his companion. 

“Don’t let your anger force you into making a mistake.” 

“If you’d spit it out, I wouldn’t be angry.” 

Potter frowned and pulled out the galleon again to tap it with his wand. “Just be careful, is all. I don’t want to have to take you back to Headquarters in a body bag.” 

“If I die, there’s a pretty good chance you will too.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Besides, what do you care? Getting soft on me?” 

Potter’s gaze was steady on Draco’s, unbothered by the quip. “I just don’t think Hermione could bear to lose you.” 

Draco’s stomach flipped. “What?” 

“Look, I know you two have had your difficulties recently, but I’ve talked to her a lot, and I’ve heard even more from Ginny. She’s still in love with you. And I actually think you’re good for her. So I’m just letting you know that if you get yourself killed today, I don’t think she’ll ever recover.” 

Warmth bloomed in Draco’s chest. She still loved him… according to Potter anyway. He cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the wards. “Thanks, Potter,” he mumbled. “Rest assured that I have no intentions of getting myself killed today. But if I do, it won’t be for nothing. Keeping her alive is my main priority.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Potter nod. After that they were both able to focus on the task at hand. The galleon was updated twice more before Draco figured it out. The Death Eaters had included names on their wards as well. All Draco had to do was convince the wards to accept him as well. Once inside, he would be able to break them. He was sure of it. 

“I can’t break them from out here. But I can if I go inside.” 

“Let’s go.” 

Draco shook his head and gestured to his left arm. “I’ve had to use the mark to confuse it. Rather than letting people in by name, it will let anyone with the mark in. So you can’t come with me. Once I’m inside, I can break the wards within a minute. So you better go ahead and call the Order, because the Death Eaters will notice the wards are down pretty quickly.” 

Potter clenched his jaw for a moment. “Take the cloak,” he insisted. “You’ll need it more than I will. I can hide behind a tree or something.” 

Draco scoffed. “I’m not going to take The Great Harry Potter’s Invisibility Cloak. You could be spotted.” 

Potter leveled Draco with a stern look. “You’re far more likely to be spotted inside their wards than I am out here with all this tree cover. Besides, my important role in the war is done. It has been for over two years. I’m no more important than you are today.” He paused, tilting his head thoughtfully. “In fact, you’re probably _more_ important than I am today. Take the damn cloak… That’s an order.” 

Draco stared at Potter, their faces quite close under the cloak. There was no uncertainty in his green eyes, only a hard determination that suddenly made Draco realise how he’d managed to rally so many people to his side at such a young age. The man was a born general. 

“Yes, fine,” Draco clipped. “But at least disillusion yourself. And call the Order now. I’ll have the wards down in less than a minute.” 

Potter nodded and tapped the top of his head with his wand. The Disillusionment Charm trickled over his body, leaving him transparent. With a deep breath, Potter ducked out of the cloak and Draco saw his shimmery form slide between the trees to hide. 

Turning back to the wards, Draco took a deep breath and stepped through. The barrier accepted him, and a cursory glance around indicated that the Death Eaters hadn’t been alerted to his intrusion. He turned back around, murmuring a series of spells to lower the many wards on the home one by one. The admittance shield was last, and with a well-placed spell, it glowed bright and dissolved. 

Draco saw the exact moment that the guards scattered around the property registered the threat. In an instant, their heads swiveled around, looking in all directions for the unseen threat. Shouts warbled across the lawn as the alarm was raised in the house. 

Draco reminded himself that he was invisible as Macnair darted out of the house. Should he begin hexing them? It would give away his position. 

Just as he was debating the possibility of beginning the battle himself, the loud cracks of Apparition echoed all around. Then the Order was charging forward from all sides and the air was set alight by flashes of red, green, and gold. 

Potter raced past him, fully visible as he removed the Disillusionment Charm. 

Draco wheeled around. A dozen Order members were barreling down on him, wands aloft, curses flying. Ducking down, he wrenched the Invisibility Cloak off to avoid being accidentally hexed by one of his own teammates. He shoved the silky fabric into his pocket as his eyes darted about the chaos in search of brown curls. 

“Come on, mate.” Charlie grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to his feet. He gave Draco a hard look of fierce determination, and together they swept forward into the fray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Monday  
> Next Chapter posts: September 7th
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/graceful-lioness) and pop over to my chan in the Dept. of Fanfiction [Discord](https://discord.gg/JtzPUp) server to yell at me. They like to yell at me in there.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The battle begins! I hope you all enjoy this one! 
> 
> AlphaBet love to BiscuitsForPotter and DisenchantedGlow for their amazing help as always! 
> 
> Also, I've got to plug Biscuits' works for a second! If you're not reading Subtle Perfection yet, do yourself a favor and get on that! It's a beautiful Muggle Ice Dancing AU and it's AMAZING! Seriously so beautiful and magical even though it's in the muggle world. Join us on that fun little journey. 
> 
> Okay, now on with the war!

Draco and Charlie charged forward across the battlefield where the Death Eaters were meeting Order members with deadly force. Already, screams and cries filled the air. Rallying cries, angry jeers, shouted hexes, and moans of pain assaulted Draco’s ears as he raced across the lawn, his eyes searching for brown curls. 

“Where’s Granger?” Draco shouted over the sounds of hexes being cast from both sides. 

Charlie cast a Stunning Spell to his right and a Death Eater dropped to the ground. “Erm… I think she’s coming from the other side.” He turned around to look at Draco and his eyes went wide. _“Avada Kedavra!”_ A jet of green escaped Charlie’s wand and shot past Draco’s left shoulder. 

Draco turned in time to see Macnair crumble to the ground, a vicious sneer still twisting his lips even in death. He glanced around for more approaching Death Eaters before turning back to Charlie. His wand was still gripped tight in his hand, and his mouth was clenched in a hard line. 

His first kill? 

Draco couldn’t be sure. But Charlie didn’t seem the least bit bothered to have killed Macnair. 

“Thanks,” Draco gasped, his heart racing. 

“Look out for yourself, mate.” With a jaw set in determination, Charlie continued forward into the fray. 

Draco darted across the lawn, looking out for Death Eaters as well as Granger. There was fighting going on all around him. The front door of the house opened as Draco was directly in front of it and Death Eaters poured out. Dozens of them. 

He froze, wondering how many he could handle when suddenly, Potter, Dean, and Bill raced forward with raised wands. 

Potter stunned two Death Eaters before anyone else could release a hex. Draco ducked as a Killing Curse surged toward him. Then he released his own, hitting a burly man in the chest. 

Twenty-four. 

The four men fired spell after spell at the mass of armed men barreling down on them. Many hexes were deflected, but a few Death Eaters fell. Bill killed two men. Dean petrified three. Then the Death Eaters scattered, forcing the quartet of Order men to split up in pursuit. 

Potter ran in the same direction as Draco, firing Stunning Spells at the back of a retreating Death Eater. The man crumpled to the ground. 

Draco couldn’t decide if being with Potter gave him a tactical advantage, or if it just made the target on his back bigger. The Auror was an excellent dueler, but he was sure that many Death Eaters would give their right arm to be the one to kill The-Boy-Who-Lived. But as Potter stunned another man and bound him without breaking his stride, Draco decided that being alone would give him worse odds than sticking with the Boy Wonder. 

“Have you seen Granger?” Draco shouted. 

Potter glanced at him and shook his head. He opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a loud blast from across the garden. 

Someone had blown a crater in the earth. Debris and people were flying through the air from the shock of it. Draco and Potter ducked and covered their heads as dirt and rocks rained down upon them. Draco cast up a quick shield charm to block them from the worst of it. 

A body dropped to the ground not far from them, mangled and bloody. Draco couldn’t be sure if it was one of the Order or a Death Eater, but it was long and tall and broad like a man. 

_Where was Granger?_

He couldn’t be sure which side had set off the blast, but it seemed to have caused equal destruction on both sides. 

Order members were staggering about, dazed and injured. Several fell to the ground, unconscious or dead, Draco couldn’t be sure. Others thrust their hands into their pockets and then disappeared, whisked back to Headquarters by their emergency Portkeys. 

Their numbers were dwindling, and they had hardly put a dent in the Death Eater ranks. 

“Is this all of us?” Draco asked. 

Potter shook his head and brushed the dust from his shirt as he straightened up. “Kingsley’s gathering reinforcements. They’ll be here soon.” 

Draco hoped it would be very soon. He stunned two Death Eaters who had begun to get their bearings back following the blast. 

“Potter, I need to find Granger,” Draco bit out, suppressing the tremble in his voice. 

The Auror nodded, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “Let’s check around back.” 

Draco took off running, hearing the sounds of Potter’s heavy footfalls behind him. They skirted around the large estate toward the back garden. Flashes of light from spellfire were up ahead, and Draco saw Lovegood backing up, deflecting curses as a Death Eater advanced on her. 

The Killing Curse bubbled up from his chest and released through his wand, and the Death Eater dropped dead. 

Twenty-five. 

Luna’s head swiveled in his direction and she sent him a smile as if he’d just held open a door for her. “Thank you, Draco.” 

Draco nodded, not sure if he’d ever been thanked for killing before. He took in the rest of the lawn. George and Angelina were dueling Crabbe Senior together, and winning. The lumbering man was far too slow to be a match for either of them, and together they quickly bested him and Crabbe went limp. 

Arthur Weasley was back to back with Ron against two lean Death Eaters who Draco recognised as the Carrows. 

Arthur quickly took down Alecto and turned to help his son with Amycus. 

“Luna, have you seen Hermione?” Potter asked. 

Draco turned back to the batty blonde girl. 

“She went into the house with Ginny, Seamus, and Neville.” 

Dread swept over Draco. He hadn’t seen Theo or Dolohov yet. Which meant that they were likely inside the house. Why had she gone in there? Why hadn’t she found him like he’d told her to? 

Potter bolted forward, taking the back stairs two at a time on his way into the house. 

“Wait, Potter!” Draco halted him. 

Potter stopped, his hand on the doorknob and turned back. 

“The battlefield may be your domain, but this is mine,” Draco hissed, stepping past him. “I’ll lead.” 

Potter stepped back, his green eyes wide as if he hadn’t realised what they might need to do inside the house. But he’d gone to the Longbottom House after it was attacked, and Draco knew he understood now. Potter nodded, and Draco opened the door. 

As soon as they stepped foot inside, the sounds of battle were muffled. They stopped just inside the door and Draco raised his wand. _“Homenum Revelio Charta.”_

The map of the house lit up, and Draco watched as the blue dots moved about. Two by the back door: one of him and one for Potter, three others on the ground level, six in the basement, and five scattered upstairs. 

“I can’t handle that many,” Draco admitted, glancing away from the map to send Potter a wary look. “Even if four of them are ours, that still leaves ten.” 

Potter nodded. “Well, you have me.” 

“And me.” 

Both Draco and Potter jumped a mile high and turned to see Luna standing directly behind them. 

“Fuck, Lovegood. How did you get in here?” Draco hissed. 

“Through the door. I’m here to help.” 

Draco and Potter shared a look. She had snuck up on them. Opened a door and closed it again right behind them without them noticing. Perhaps she _could_ be useful. Draco’s eyebrow twitched up questioningly and Potter nodded in response. They studied the map. The corridor in front of them seemed to lead to the drawing room where two dots hovered. One more dot was moving quickly through the adjacent corridor. It bolted for the front door and disappeared out onto the battlefield. 

One less for them to deal with immediately. 

Draco let his eyes sweep over the six in the basement before flickering to the five on the floor above. Where would Dolohov and Theo be? If they weren’t on the battlefield, it likely meant that they were plotting something else, or trying to command from afar. But would they be underground where it was safer, or upstairs where they could survey the battle from the windows? 

He couldn’t be sure, and a glance at Potter told him that he wasn’t either. 

There wasn’t a cluster of four together, which meant that Granger, Ginny, Longbottom, and Seamus had either split up or some of them were dead. 

The sound of frantic footsteps upstairs had them all looking up. Draco’s heart quickened and gripped his wand a bit harder. They would start with the drawing room. From there they would just have to take it one room at a time and hope Shacklebolt arrived with his reinforcements. 

Just as Draco was about to vanish the map, a dozen more blue dots appeared in the entrance hall, all flooding into existence as if from nowhere. Muffled speaking in foreign tongues drifted down the corridor. Someone shouted orders in a harsh voice before all but one of the dots exited the house through the front door. The remaining dot went upstairs, his footsteps thundering on the way. 

“Floo,” Potter murmured, and Draco nodded in response. 

“If we can get to it without being seen, I can block it,” Potter assured him. 

“Let’s clear this level first,” Draco replied. He turned to his companions and lifted a finger to his lips, then he walked forward quietly. 

Potter wasn’t silent, but his Auror training had done him some good. His footsteps barely made a sound as they made their way down the corridor. 

Luna on the other hand was as silent as the grave. Draco could have sworn she was floating. Several times, he had to turn around and make sure that she was still behind them. Each time he did, she smiled at him. He wondered if she was even human. 

Draco kept his ears piqued for any sounds of approaching people, but heard nothing as they drew to the drawing room door. From the corridor, he could see the fireplace across the vast entrance hall. He slowed, looking for the signs of people coming through, but the flames were low and yellow. They would clear the drawing room and then close the Floo. It wouldn’t do them any good to be ambushed from behind while Potter crossed the room to deal with that. 

Draco paused at the door to the drawing room and glanced at the other two. Both of them held their wands tightly in hand. Luna gave him an encouraging nod, and Draco pulled the door open and swept into the room, wand aloft. 

A Stunning Spell narrowly missed his head and he threw up a shield charm as quickly as he could. 

Potter raised his wand to attack but froze as his eyes focused on the two people in the room. 

“No!” Ginny grabbed hold of Granger’s arm to stop her spells as she recognised the people entering the room. Granger dropped her wand slightly and started towards them, but Potter closed the door quickly and held up his hand to stop her. 

“Wait,” he ordered. Granger halted. “Niffler.” 

Granger’s eyes darted between the three of them briefly before replying, “Hippogriff.” 

Potter lowered his hand and quickly crossed the room to Ginny. She threw her arms around his neck and cried into his chest. 

Granger approached Draco and wrapped her arms around his middle, squeezing him tight. “I did look for you,” she promised. “I thought you might have gone after Theo.” 

Draco pressed a kiss into the top of her head, relief flooding his chest. 

Across the drawing room, Ginny was weeping into a bewildered Potter’s shoulder. 

“Is she alright?” Draco asked. 

Granger pulled back and glanced at the couple. “Ginny killed him,” she murmured, jerking her head to the right. 

Draco wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed the body of a Death Eater in a far corner of the room. 

“We dueled,” Granger explained. “But he kept blocking our spells. She killed him.” 

He felt himself nod, remembering how he’d felt after his first kill. That had been different though. The man he had killed was innocent. Ginny had killed a Death Eater, an evil man, a man who had been about to kill her and Granger. 

He stepped away from Granger and moved to where Potter was trying desperately to console his girlfriend. 

“Ginny,” he bit out. Glassy blue eyes snapped to his. 

“We don’t have time for this,” he pressed on, keeping his voice even. 

“But I—” she warbled, turning to face him.

_“I know,”_ he interrupted. “And I know how it feels, trust me. You can process it all later.” He glanced at Potter for a moment before grabbing Ginny by the arm and pulling her further away. 

Ginny’s breathing was erratic. He needed her calm if they were going to leave this room with her. 

He spoke to her quietly, keeping his tone calm and dark. “I can stand here and tell you that it was self-defense. Or I could tell you that he would have killed you if you hadn’t killed him. I could say that he probably deserved to die. All of that is true, but it won’t change the fact that you took a life today, Ginny.” 

She trembled before him, her eyes fixed on the body of the man she’d killed. Draco turned them so that her back was to the Death Eater. 

“Close your eyes,” he ordered, placing his hands on her shoulders. 

Ginny’s eyes swept over his face before slowly drifting closed. 

Draco took a deep breath. “Focus on the sound of my voice and the feel of your feet on the ground. Imagine that you are standing on the shore of a deep lake. So deep that you cannot see the bottom. The waters are cold and still, containing unknown depths and secrets.” He watched Ginny’s brow furrow in concentration. 

“Bring forward the moment you killed him. Think about every detail surrounding the moment. His face, the way the curse felt in your hand, on your tongue. Think about how he fell to the ground, and think about the moment you realised what you’d done.” 

Ginny shuddered. 

“Throw them into the lake one by one. They’re heavy. Feel how much lighter you feel without them. Watch them sink down into the depths of the water far beneath your feet until you can no longer see them. They’re miles down now, shrinking under the weight of the water surrounding them, losing their power.” 

Ginny’s brow unfurrowed and she let out a little breath of air. 

“Now, take three deep breaths…” 

She inhaled slowly and blew it out through her lips three times. 

“...And open your eyes.” 

Blue eyes met grey, and instead of seeing panic and terror, he saw nothing. No emotion, only blue. 

Good. It’s what they needed from her right now. She could process the emotions properly later, but for now they needed focus. 

She nodded at him, her lips pressing together. Draco squeezed her shoulders and then led her back to where Potter, Granger, and Lovegood were talking quietly. 

“Are you alright?” Potter asked. Ginny nodded quickly in return, her face betraying no more emotion. 

“What did you say to her?” Granger asked softly as Draco moved back to her side. 

“It’s a simple Occlumency trick. Something my mother used to do to help me when I first started. It should get her through the day.” 

Granger’s hand slipped into his. 

“I used the map spell,” she said, addressing the whole group. “There are twelve in the house other than us. Two of them are Seamus and Neville, but I can’t be sure which ones.” 

“You don’t know if they went upstairs or downstairs?” Potter asked. 

Granger shook her head. “We had to split up rather quickly when we heard Death Eaters coming.” 

“We’ll find them,” Draco assured her. “Let’s—” 

He fell silent when footsteps in the entryway thundered once again. The Floo had let more Death Eaters in. Draco’s eyes met Potter’s and they both grimaced. He’d forgotten that they needed to deal with the Floo when they’d found Granger. He guessed that Ginny’s distress had distracted Potter as well. 

They needed to close that damn Floo fast. 

In a flash, Draco cast the spell to conjure the map. A mass of blue dots was crossing quickly through the entrance hall, scattering to various places in the house. Most left through the front doors, but two descended into the basement and another two crossed quickly toward the drawing room door. Where they were currently hiding. 

Granger wheeled around to face the door, raising her wand. Draco fought the urge to push her behind him and instead stood shoulder to shoulder with her. Potter squared off, his eyes flickering to Draco as he gave a quick nod. 

Draco returned the gesture as the door opened and the sound of two men laughing echoed through the drawing room. 

“I’m serious mate,” one of the men clamored. They weren’t within sight yet, still blocked by the door. “Jenkins said the only thing he wants to do today is slice one of those Order scum’s guts open.” 

“He’s sick,” the other one laughed. “I’ll be sticking with the Killing Curse myself. Way less messy.” 

They came around the door, and before their focus even turned to the group of Order members in the room, they both dropped to the ground. One downed by at least three Stunning Spells, and the other dead from Draco’s Killing Curse. 

Twenty-six.

“Close the door,” Draco hissed, moving forward to pull the Death Eaters away from the entrance. Potter grabbed the arms of the stunned man and pulled him away from the door as Luna closed it. 

Checking the map, Draco determined that no other Death Eaters were coming their way. 

“We’ve got to get the stunned one to the Ministry,” Potter directed.

“But if any of us goes, we won’t be able to come back. The Portkey will bring us back to the outskirts of the battle again,” Ginny protested. 

“She’s right,” Draco said. “We need as many people to sweep the house as possible.” 

“So what do we do?” Luna asked, her pale eyes watching the unconscious Death Eater. “Bind him and leave him here?” 

“We could kill him,” Ginny suggested, her voice cold and far away. 

Draco’s eyes snapped to her. She was watching him expectantly. “I’m not killing an unarmed unconscious man,” he insisted with a scowl. 

“What difference does it make? If we leave him here, someone might find him and revive him. Then when he comes after us again you’ll have to kill him.” 

“Ginny…” Granger’s tone was shocked as she admonished her friend. 

Draco’s tone darkened. “Oh _sure,_ Draco’s an assassin. Draco won’t mind disposing of our little problem for us. What’s one more kill for the soulless murderer?” 

“I didn’t mean—” 

Draco sneered and turned away from her. “Yes, you did.” 

“I’ll take him to the Ministry,” Luna offered. 

“No,” Potter said. “Draco’s right. We need all the help we can get in here. Let’s just bind him and make sure we take his wand and the wands of the dead as well. Even if he gets revived, he’ll need to find a wand.” 

Draco nodded and summoned the three wands from the Death Eaters. He distributed one to each of the three witches in the room. “Just in case,” he told them, clenching his jaw. 

“I need to close the Floo before any more come in,” Potter said. “You all should stay here, put the unconscious one in that cupboard, but leave the dead ones where they are.” 

Draco shook his head. “One of us should go with you to watch your back.” 

Potter nodded and glanced at his watch. “The three of you stay here and deal with the Death Eaters. Keep quiet. We’ll be back in a minute.” His green eyes were hard as he looked at each witch in turn. 

Draco checked the map. “Let’s go.” 

He didn’t vanish the map as he and Potter exited the drawing room and moved across the entrance hall toward the fireplace. They were alone. 

“How long will you need to block it?” Draco hissed as Potter stopped in front of the Floo. 

“Just a few minutes.” He began murmuring incantations. The flames crackled and hissed as if offended by the intruding magic. 

Draco kept quiet, listening intently for any sounds which were out of the ordinary. He watched the dots intently, monitoring the movement patterns of each person. He tried to discern which two could be Finnegan and Longbottom, but there were several isolated pairs so he couldn’t be sure. 

With a jolt, Draco realised that three dots were moving quickly toward the stairs. “Potter,” he whispered urgently. “We have company.” 

“Almost done.” 

The flames crackled, their colors changing rapidly as if someone were trying to get through. 

The dots were descending the stairs now. They would be within sight in less than ten seconds. 

“We’re out of time.”

Potter’s brow furrowed in concentration, his wand tracing the mantle in a complicated pattern. Draco could hear footsteps approaching now. Could they make it back to the drawing room before being seen? His chest was pounding wildly, every instinct within him screaming to hurry back to the safety of the drawing room.

The flames burned bright, flickering rapidly between orange and green. Edges of black cloaks and grasping fingers could be seen darting in and out, trying to gain passage, but with a final flourish, Potter closed the grate, and the flames reduced to a gentle yellow smolder. “Done,” Potter announced. 

Draco took off running towards the drawing room, Potter hot on his heels. They were nearly to the drawing room when the three Death Eaters rounded the corner at the base of the stairs and saw them. 

“Oi!” A surprised cry came from one of them. Draco stunned him first, but the other two scattered, dodging Potter’s Petrifying Hex. 

Potter fired off two Stunning Spells in quick succession, narrowly missing one man as he dove behind a suit of armor. Draco blocked a bright purple hex sent his way, and returned fire with an _Impedimenta_ , which was deflected. 

Potter was clipped in the shoulder by a severing hex and stumbled back with a hiss of pain, but recovered quickly and managed to stun the Death Eater who had cast it. 

_“Avada Kedavra!”_

Draco barely had time to throw himself out of the way as the green curse hurtled towards him across the entrance hall and missed him by inches. He was squaring off to return the curse when a brilliant red Stunning Spell shot past him and hit the Death Eater straight in the chest. 

Wheeling around, Draco saw Granger standing in the doorway of the drawing room, wand in hand, jaw set in fierce determination. His warrior lioness. 

Potter and Draco hurried back into the drawing room and shut the door. 

“Thanks,” Draco panted to Granger. 

Potter moaned, clutching his bleeding arm with a grimace. 

Granger was on him in an instant. She dove her hand into her beaded bag and withdrew a tiny phial of Dittany. With her wand, she severed the sleeve of his jumper to reveal the deep gash beneath. She wasted no time in murmuring a few healing spells and dropping the Dittany into the wound. 

The skin began to knit itself back together and the pain on Potter’s face subsided. Soon, the skin on his arm was smooth and pink with just the faintest hint of a line where he’d been cut. 

“Thanks, Hermione,” Potter said as Granger reattached the sleeve of his jumper. 

“We’ll have to move soon. The others upstairs probably heard that,” Ginny commented. “Did you get the Floo closed?” 

Potter nodded. “Just in time, too. Some others were trying to come through just as I was closing it.” 

“I’m sure they’ll find another way to get here, but at least we were able to slow them down. Maybe we can get the situation under control here before they arrive.” Draco conjured the map and studied it carefully. There were three more upstairs and still six below. 

“We should clear the upstairs first,” Potter interjected. 

Ginny nodded and pointed to two isolated dots. “With any luck, two of them are Seamus and Neville.” 

“Maybe,” Draco said, vanishing the map. He set to work casting cushioning charms on everyone’s feet including his own. “But we should proceed with the expectation that it will just be the five of us. For all we know, they’re already dead.” 

“Why would you say that?” Ginny drew back, betrayal in her eyes.

“No, he’s right,” Potter cut in, straightening his glasses. “Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. Malfoy, you lead the group, and I’ll go last to keep an eye out from behind.” 

Draco nodded and beckoned to the others to follow. Together, they made their way out of the drawing room and through the entrance hall. Luna darted away from the group briefly to retrieve the wands of the three stunned Death Eaters. She brought them back and distributed them to Draco, Potter, and Granger. 

They made their way up the stairs quietly. It was hard to hear the sounds of the house over the battle raging outside. Screams and cries accompanied the sounds of spellfire and blasts from the lawn. The only advantage to this was that the people upstairs were also unlikely to hear their approach.

Draco approached the room where the map indicated two people were standing. He braced himself. It was possible that Dolohov and Theo were in this room, looking out over the battle below. They would need to be quick. Who should he hex first? Theo was dangerous. Skilled in dark, wandless magic and likely to kill quickly. 

But Dolohov had trained him. Draco knew how ruthless the High Minister could be. Though he liked to delegate the bulk of the grunt work onto his followers, it didn’t mean that he wasn’t capable of incredible and devastating magic. He paused at the door and looked back at his companions. Four determined looks met his gaze as they all adjusted their wands in their grips. 

He took a deep, silent breath and swung the door open. Two Death Eaters stood near the windows and Draco didn’t hesitate, hitting one with a Stunning Spell before they even had the chance to turn around. 

The second Death Eater was petrified by Luna an instant later and Draco nodded at her in thanks. They swept forward, Potter closing the door behind them. Granger summoned their wands and bound them as Draco inspected their faces. He didn’t recognize one of them, but the other was Goyle Senior. Why they were here instead of on the battlefield, Draco didn’t know. 

“One more up here,” Potter announced. “We should keep moving.” 

“Seamus and Neville must be in the basement,” Ginny surmised, her nervous eyes flickering to Luna. 

Draco nodded, but shared a look with Potter. Unspoken understanding passed between them. The longer they were in this house, the less likely it was that Finnegan and Longbottom were alive. They were outnumbered and were likely to be detected. It was possible, of course, but as the minutes passed, Draco braced himself for the probability of stumbling across the two Order members dead rather than alive. 

“Let’s go,” Draco grumbled, crossing the room to the door. Before heading back into the corridor, he checked the map again. Still only one more on that level. And there were two isolated dots in the basement. Possibly Finnegan and Longbottom. He hoped.

He moved to open the door when suddenly a group of blue dots entered the house through the front door. A team of at least ten was sweeping forward in an organized formation. They moved quickly through the entrance hall and into the nearest room. 

“Death Eaters?” Luna asked, peering at the map over Draco’s shoulder. 

“It could be the Order,” Ginny guessed. 

“There’s no way to know for sure without seeing them,” Draco replied. 

As the group reached the drawing room, one of them stayed behind in the entrance hall, moving slowly around the space before disappearing abruptly. 

“I...I think it might be the Order,” Granger piped up. “That might have been one of them transporting the stunned Death Eaters to the Ministry.” 

“Possibly,” Draco said with a nod. He hoped that was the case. It would make finding Theo and Dolohov that much easier. And the quicker they were found, the sooner this would all be over. 

The team swept across the room, pausing where Draco remembered the bodies of the two dead Death Eaters were. When one of them reached the closet where the stunned Death Eater was bound, the dot disappeared. 

Granger was probably right. This was the Order sweeping the house, searching for Dolohov. 

“Let’s get the other one up here,” Draco suggested. “Then we can check it out and see if it’s the Order.” 

Potter nodded, and they all fell back into formation. Once back out in the corridor, they made their way slowly and quietly toward the furthest room where the only other person on this level was waiting. 

The house was quiet save for the sounds of battle coming in from the lawn beyond the walls. Draco heard footsteps on the stairs far behind them and his heart quickened. If it wasn’t the Order, they were going to be trapped and outnumbered. He glanced over his shoulder to see that Potter had turned around and was squaring off to defend the group. 

Draco slowed, but wasn’t willing to turn his back on the door where the final Death Eater was waiting. He would deal with this final man, and then return to the group. 

“Wait here,” he hissed to the others. 

Granger looked like she wanted to argue, but he jerked his head in the direction of the approaching feet and her mouth shut, understanding him. She stopped, offering him a nod of encouragement. 

He continued on, drawing closer to the door at the end of the corridor. A thin sliver of daylight was escaping under the door. He gripped his wand tightly, preparing himself. It could be Dolohov in there. Or Theo. 

A surge in screams from beyond the house filled the air, and in the next instant the house shook, sending Draco stumbling to the side, his shoulder colliding painfully with the wall. With a mighty bang and several shouts, the floor beneath him quaked and he turned to see the corridor crumbling away. 

_No._

The corridor was collapsing, cascading to the level below in an avalanche of debris. 

Several screams cut across the air over the crashing of the house collapsing, seizing his heart as Granger, Potter, Ginny, and Luna were all sent careening to the ground level. 

_“Arresto Momentum!”_ Granger’s hysterical cry met his ears, filling him with a brief moment of relief. There was a terrible clatter as the debris settled, and he held his breath as silence met his ears in its wake. 

“Draco!” called Granger’s voice. She was alive. And unharmed enough to call out for him. He was about to shout back to her when the door to his left opened abruptly. 

Yaxley’s Killing Curse was so fast that Draco barely had time to throw himself out of the way and he felt the curse graze his shirt by his ribs. He returned fire, but missed in his disoriented state. Yaxley sneered, his cruel eyes regarding Draco viciously as he reared back to try again, his lips parting to form the words. _“Avada—”_

Casting the Killing Curse nonverbally was much faster though, and the spell had left Draco before Yaxley could finish speaking. The blond wizard was enveloped in a blaze of bright green and he fell backwards through the doorway and landed limp on the floor, his eyes wide and unseeing, the ghost of his sneer still visible. 

Twenty-seven. 

He turned around to the crater where the corridor had been. “Granger!” he shouted. 

“Draco! Are you alright?” 

He couldn’t see her, but she sounded unharmed. “I’m fine. Yaxley’s dead. Are you all okay?” 

“A little banged up, but we’re fine.” 

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Stay where you are. I’m going to try to find a way down.” He looked around. The end of the corridor was completely isolated. No other stairs existed on this side of the house, and the gap in the middle of the corridor was far too wide to jump. He peered over the edge of the crumpled corridor, wondering if there was a way to climb down. The drop was severe, several metres at least. Perhaps he could jump and just slow his fall the way Granger had. It was an option if he couldn’t find another way, but there were always risks involved. 

There was a jumbled pit of jagged debris below. If he wasn’t careful, he could be impaled on a splintered beam or cut by a rusty pipe. And even if he made it to the ground without hitting any of the shrapnel, there was no guarantee that he could cushion his fall enough to avoid injury. 

As he was debating the possibility of breaking a leg with a semi-controlled fall from a great height, movement across the chasm caught his eye. The Order members had made it to him. Bill, George, and Angelina led the pack. 

“Alright, Malfoy?” George called with a grin. 

Malfoy nodded, gesturing to Yaxley. “He’s dead. Any idea how to get me down from here?” 

Bill eyed him warily. “Niffler.” 

“Hippogriff,” Draco replied. 

Angelina stepped forward and waved her wand. Several loose pieces of wood floated up from below and formed a makeshift bridge. “Come on over,” she encouraged. 

Draco raised a skeptical eyebrow. The boards were moving ever so slightly in the air and were unconnected to each other. 

“I won’t let you fall,” Angelina assured him with a wink. 

He didn’t have much choice, so he took a deep breath and then stepped onto the first board. It sank under his weight a bit and his stomach jumped up to his throat. Angelina laughed. 

“Oh, love. Don’t give the poor man a heart attack,” George chuckled. 

“Sorry, Draco. It won’t happen again.” Angelina grinned, but retrained her wand on the boards. 

Carefully, Draco made his way across the hovering boards before he was close enough to the other side to step onto solid flooring. 

Bill grabbed hold of his arm as he crossed the gap and helped Draco regain his footing. 

“Thanks,” Draco said, feeling his heart slow a bit. “Where are Granger and the others? They fell.” 

“My mum and Katie Bell are helping them out. They got a bit buried, but I think they’re alright,” Bill replied. 

“This level is clear now,” Draco told them, glancing over his shoulder at Yaxley’s body. “But there are six people in the basement, or there were the last time I checked.” 

“Checked? How?” George asked. 

Draco showed them the map. It was rather useless now. There were so many people in the house that it was impossible to determine who was a Death Eater and who was in the Order. There were six on the upper level and the same on the ground level, but at least ten in the basement. 

Dean and Parvati made their way up the corridor. “Everything clear up here?” Dean asked. 

“Yup!” Angelina chirped, twirling her wand in her fingers. 

Draco began to walk past the group, eager to get downstairs and find Granger again. 

“Cool spell,” George said jovially, bouncing along next to Draco like a cheerful golden retriever. “Where’d you learn it?” 

“It’s mine,” Draco replied, striding quickly toward the stairs. 

“Nice. I’ve invented a few spells as well, but none of them are particularly useful in battle.” 

Draco didn’t have the wherewithal to think about what kind of spells George Weasley might invent in his spare time. There was a war going on. They could chat about their ingenuity later. 

They descended the stairs and began to make their way across the entrance hall toward where the upper level had collapsed. Draco sped up as they approached the debris. “Granger!” he called. There was no sign of anyone. He cast the map. No blue dots other than his own and George’s in the area. 

They were gone. 

“Where are they?” Draco asked. 

“Maybe they went to search the basement with the others,” George suggested. 

“Or they might have gone back outside,” said Dean, striding over to them. 

Draco frowned. He had told Granger to wait for him. Perhaps she hadn’t heard him. Or perhaps they hadn’t had the chance to wait. 

“Were any of them so wounded that they might have gone back to headquarters?” he asked. Thinking of Granger tending to a wounded friend was easier for him to stomach than her out on the battlefield. 

“No, they said they got a little bruised, but nothing serious. I doubt they would have bothered,” said Dean. 

Downstairs or outside? Where would Granger have gone? He tried to put himself in her mind. Perhaps they had moved downstairs to seek a way for him to get down from the upper level. Or maybe they had gone outside when they realised that the Order had taken control of the house. 

As he stood debating with himself, the front door was suddenly blasted open and several Death Eaters swept inside, spells flying. 

Draco returned fire immediately, killing one of the men swiftly. 

Twenty-eight. 

George killed another with no hesitation. Bill and Angelina charged forward, dueling with the Death Eaters as Draco tried to get a clear shot. He blocked a deep blue hex that nearly hit George head on. His next Stunning Spell was easily deflected by a young, wiry man up front. 

Dean petrified a large woman and squared off to stun a burly man. 

He never got the chance. 

The young, wiry man had cast a Killing Curse and Draco watched, unable to stop it, as it zoomed across the room and hit Dean in the heart. 

Draco’s chest constricted painfully as Dean fell down dead. 

Rage overtook him, and the Killing Curse left his body with so much force that he staggered back slightly. But the wiry man died an instant later, snuffed out by Draco’s bloodlust. 

Twenty-nine. 

They dueled for several minutes with the remaining Death Eaters. Several were stunned or petrified. One was killed by Bill, and one more by George. 

When the last Death Eaters lay still on the ground or had retreated back onto the battlefield, Draco realised just how willing the Weasleys were to kill today, and how they all—with the exception of Ginny—seemed unbothered by the act. 

George grimaced as he looked down at the body of one of the men he’d killed. “I thought I’d feel worse,” he murmured. 

Draco turned to him. “It helps when they deserve it,” he said evenly. 

Dean lay quite still on the floor, his eyes wide and unseeing in death. 

Draco knelt next to him and gently swept his hand over his face to close Dean’s glassy eyes. “Do we have a protocol for what to do with our dead?” he asked, looking up at Bill. 

“We’ll deal with them following the battle,” he replied, eyeing Dean remorsefully. 

Draco nodded. “Well, let’s at least move him out of the way so he doesn’t get trampled.” 

George approached and helped Draco lift Dean’s body without magic. Together, they moved him to the edge of the room and laid him softly on the floor. “Rest well, mate,” George intoned softly as he placed one hand over Dean’s still heart. 

Draco closed his eyes against the image of Dean’s death. He was tired. His soul was weary. His shoulder ached. Part of him longed to lie down next to Dean and let the battle drift away from his mind.

But this was war. If he lingered too long next to the dead, he was likely to join them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates on Mondays  
> Next chapter posts (hopefully) September 14th. 
> 
> Come yell at me about how evil I am on my [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/graceful-lioness)  
> or over on the Dept. of Fanfiction [Discord](https://discord.gg/q8WrMe) server on the #gracefullioness channel.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we are getting so close to the end! Only 2 chapters left after this one! Thank you all for being here, whether you've been with me since I began posting back in March, or if you just found this story yesterday, or if you waited until it was complete to read it. I appreciate you taking the time to read my words. 
> 
> So much love to BiscuitsForPotter and DisenchantedGlow for helping me get this chapter together so quickly. They're the main reason you didn't have to wait extra time for this one. Love you guys! 
> 
> Without further ado, the battle continues!

Dust and debris from the latest confrontation still surrounded them, refusing to settle on the ground and be forgotten. The coppery scent of blood permeated every breath Draco took as he stood with Bill, George, and Angelina in the entrance hall. As much as Dean deserved to be properly grieved, Draco forced his mind back to the dire present. Granger was still here _somewhere_ , and he had to find her and keep her safe. And as far as he knew, Theo and Dolohov were at large as well. He needed to find them… do whatever it took to stop them once and for all. These tasks needed to be at the forefront of his mind, unclouded by grief or guilt. 

“We should help the others in the basement,” Angelina suggested, her eyes a bit glassy with shock and grief. 

“Basement’s clear!” Potter called as he emerged from the stairs coming up from the lower level. 

Draco wheeled around, craning his neck to look for Granger. Potter was sporting a black eye and a split lip. Ginny trailed behind him, blood on the leg of her trousers. Molly Weasley and Katie Bell were with them as well, along with a handful of other Order members who had been tasked with sweeping the house. 

Bill and Potter exchanged the code words as the group from downstairs approached them. Finnegan and Longbottom were with them, both looking a bit wartorn. Longbottom’s face was swollen and purple around one eye and Finnegan had a bit of blood caked on the side of his face, but otherwise they seemed unharmed. 

“There’s a tunnel down there,” Potter said to Bill. “Leads out away from the house, beyond the line of our anti-Apparition wards. We didn’t feel comfortable investigating it with just our small team. Malfoy’s map spell couldn’t find the end of it. For all we know, they could have hundreds down there.” 

_A tunnel._ Draco recalled the tunnels beneath Malfoy Manor. There was a deep labyrinth of corridors sprawling out in many directions. Without knowing the way through them, one could easily get lost for days beneath the Manor. 

It had happened to him once when he was very small. Curiosity had gotten the better of him, and although he’d had fun at first exploring the tunnels, it soon became terrifying as he lost his way. By the time his mother located him within the maze, he'd been crying and screaming for help for over an hour. 

The tunnels had been built as a security measure in case the Lord and Lady of the Manor needed to make a quick getaway. Centuries ago, they'd been used primarily to smuggle dark artifacts. Now, there was just an impressive wine cellar and the rest were mostly used as storage. 

However, as Draco listened to Bill and Potter mutter to each other, he began to suspect that the tunnels at this particular house may hold something far more sinister than vintage, elf-made wines.

Bill furrowed his brows in thought as he voiced Draco’s fears aloud. “Or they could be using it to smuggle the higher ranking Death Eaters out. Could explain why we haven’t found Dolohov yet.” 

“Exactly.” Potter nodded. “I put a few detection charms on it so that we would know if anyone tried to come in that way, but I couldn’t do much without more time.” 

From the corner of his eye, Draco saw Bill glance around at the group of people that had amassed in the entrance hall. “We should try to assemble a team to investigate and see where it leads.”

As Bill and Potter sussed out details, Draco’s eyes never strayed from the top of the basement steps. He watched the line of people ascending with bile in his throat reaching higher and higher with each person who crossed the threshold. When the last one stepped to the top, his stomach twisted. 

“Where’s Granger?” he asked, cutting off the other conversation. 

Possibilities flashed across his mind. 

Had she gone downstairs with the others? 

Had she been killed? 

Was her body lying in a corner somewhere like Dean’s was, waiting to be dealt with once the battle was winding down? 

The very thought of seeing her lifeless eyes practically sent him spiraling. He gripped his wand tightly in a feeble attempt to get a hold of himself. 

Before he was too far gone, Ginny jumped in. “She and Luna went outside.” 

Outside? Draco turned to look through the windows at the chaos of the battlefield beyond the walls. Explosions and screams assaulted his ears, and his mind conjured a thousand images of a thousand ways that Granger could be in peril. What in Merlin’s name possessed her to go _outside?_

As if sensing his panic, Ginny stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “She was doing what she had to do. As a Healer. She saw red sparks and went to help someone who’d been wounded.” 

Damn her Gryffindor savior complex. She was going to get herself killed trying to save everyone. 

Without waiting for a companion to back him up, Draco turned and bolted for the front door, ignoring Potter’s shouts to stay put and not compromise the mission. He wrenched open the heavy, dark wood and took in the scene around him. 

Order reinforcements had arrived by the dozens, and although Shacklebolt had advised everyone to stay with their assigned teams, members were scattered about the well-manicured lawn. Several were using the Killing Curse freely now, but most were clearly not as comfortable using the Unforgivables as the Death Eaters were. Green flashes filled the air, paired with Stunning Spells and Petrifying Hexes. 

Draco turned his head in every direction, frantically searching for Granger’s wild curls. 

A pair of Death Eaters spotted him on the front stairs and advanced, wands raised. Draco deflected a blue hex and sent a Stunning Spell in retaliation, hitting one of them. He bounded off the steps to get to a safer location. A Killing Curse narrowly missed him as he threw himself behind one of the stone boars which sat symmetrically on either side of the front stairs. 

He lunged out to retaliate, but the Death Eater was already crumbling under the force of two Stunning Spells. Looking to his right, Draco saw Ron and Percy Weasley turning away from the incapacitated man. He nodded in thanks before checking for more enemies. 

There was a great deal of fighting happening further across the lawn, but no one nearby. Draco crept out from behind the stone boar and approached the two Weasley men. “Niffler,” he hissed, trying to catch their attention as stealthily as possible. 

“Hippogriff.” Percy straightened his glasses that had fallen askew in the bustle of battle. 

“Have either of you seen Granger?” 

“Went back into the house, didn’t she?” Ron said with a frown, his eyes sweeping across the field. 

“I just came from there.” Draco shot a glance back at the door as frustration rose within him.

“Well then maybe she’s around back.” 

“No.” Percy shook his head. “I think she took one of our injured back to Headquarters.” 

Draco fought back a growl. The Weasley brothers were absolutely no help to him, either. And frankly, with the chaos surrounding them, either of them could be mistaken. 

A pinprick of despair found its way to the back of his mind, but he shoved it as far down as he could manage.

Another explosion across the field had them all jumping and covering their heads. Several trees at the edge of the forest splintered and bowed under the force of the blow. They cracked, falling to the earth with mighty thuds that had people staggering away as fast as they could in their disoriented state. 

Things were beginning to fall apart. The house that had been white and pristine earlier today was now darkened by scorch marks. Windows had been shattered and entire rooms had been blasted away, leaving gaping holes in the walls. On the lawn, things were even worse. Bodies littered the field. How many of them were dead or dying, Draco couldn’t say. He prayed some were just unconscious as his eyes swept across them, hoping to see a glimpse of brown curls. When he saw none, his heart sank. 

But in all this chaos, could he really trust his eyes? 

He forced himself to take calming breaths. Panic was the easiest way to make a grave mistake. 

He had to stay logical—to focus on where Hermione might be. Headquarters. She could be there. Or perhaps just on the other side of the house. 

Those were the places Ron and Percy had mentioned. He could check out back first and then try to go to Headquarters if she wasn’t there. 

Determined to make his way around the house, Draco moved away from the relative safety he’d found and back into the battle. He ducked as an orange hex whizzed past his head. Wheeling around, he stunned the Death Eater pursuing him and watched the man topple over. 

As he stumbled to regain his footing and continue to the back of the house, an uproar of screams made him pause. 

A thick, black fog was oozing onto the field from the treeline. Draco’s blood ran cold as he recognised the potion vapour that had nearly killed him. Heart immediately pounding wildly, every instinct in his body urged him to flee for his life. His muscles twitched with the desire to run, but he fought against the urge. He’d taken the antidote. But just for good measure, he quickly cast a Bubble Head Charm. 

He wasn’t alone in doing so. Many Order members and allies quickly cast the charm on themselves and called out for others to do the same as the mist surged forward, enveloping several people into inky darkness. 

Some people weren’t quick enough, and some of the Order allies who Draco didn’t recognise seemed to succumb to the potion’s effects. Draco watched, horrified, as a group of no less than ten young witches and wizards disappeared into the fog. Immediately, the all too familiar sounds of choking and gagging filled the air as they gasped for air. 

The Order members and allies began to scatter, scrambling to escape the vapour as it spread out across the field. The Death Eaters were unaffected by the mist, and continued to cast hexes and curses at their enemies even as they were enveloped by the black smoke. 

Just when Draco was beginning to think that it couldn’t get any more horrifying, the fog shifted, billowing out as several figures in black cloaks emerged from within. 

Led by Antonin Dolohov.

A jolt of dread ran through Draco at the sight of the man who had molded him into a killer. The last time he’d seen Dolohov, he’d been staring at Draco through thick glass, watching with malice as black smoke choked the life out of him. 

The self-appointed High Minister was sweeping across the field with murder in his eyes and a dozen Death Eaters at his back. They seemed nearly impenetrable as they glided over a path of fallen bodies. It was no wonder so many found Dolohov terrifying. His eyes—his terrible, green eyes looked nearly mad as he took in the turmoil before him. For one, brief, horrifying moment, Draco feared that this would be the end of it all—that all would flee in terror. 

But then figure in purple robes charged forward. It was Shacklebolt, bloodied and dusty from fighting, and sporting a Bubble Head Charm. Flanking the Minister were Arthur and Molly Weasley, Minerva McGonagall, Lee Jordan, Oliver Wood, and Luna Lovegood. 

Draco’s heart leapt. Luna had been with Granger. Perhaps Granger wasn’t far away. 

Dolohov wasted no time in firing a Killing Curse at Shacklebolt, but the Minister was quick, and the spell was easily deflected. The rest of the Death Eaters fanned out, releasing spell after spell, hex after hex at the opposing forces. 

The sizzle of dark magic permeated the air as hexes reflected eerily off the black smoke in hues of green, gold, and scarlet. 

Draco watched Dolohov, recalling how the High Minister had trained him. He’d been taught how to move in battle, how to wield his wand so that his moves couldn’t be predicted, how to cast spells quickly so that they are less likely to be blocked. It was all too familiar. Fear seeped into his bones. That fear, along with rage, drove him forward towards the fighting, towards the mist. 

He looked for Theo among Dolohov’s men, but his former friend was nowhere to be seen. With Theo still missing, everything felt like a trap.

Where was he? 

What was his plan?

Was he lingering in the mist, killing off people one by one? Was he deep underground in the tunnels with an even more destructive plan up his sleeve? Was he nearby at that very moment, disguised or disillusioned and waiting for the perfect moment to strike? 

Draco’s mind raced with the possibilities. He felt his skin prickle at the idea of being watched— _hunted_ by Theo, the Reaper. 

As far as Draco was concerned, the war wouldn’t be over until Theo lay dead at his feet. He was too dangerous to be kept alive. But in order to kill Theo, he had to find him first, and that task was proving to be very difficult. 

Dolohov and Shacklebolt’s duel had drawn the attention of the entire battlefield. Most of the other duels had ceased as people were distracted by the blaze of spells at the center of the lawn, and Draco thought fleetingly of the way everyone had stopped to watch the Dark Lord perish at Hogwarts. 

Draco inched closer, prepared to jump in if the Minister looked like he needed assistance. But for now he kept his distance. 

Dolohov swung his wand around, conjuring a ribbon of blue flames, which burst outward from him and shot toward Shacklebolt. The Minister used both hands, his brow furrowed in concentration as he deflected the flames. They surged away and bowled over three Death Eaters to his left. 

Shacklebolt retaliated, sending a bolt of deep red back at Dolohov. It hit the High Minister, propelling him into the air where the spell encased him. Dolohov’s body twisted and contorted, either in incredible pain or to try to escape the spell. 

Draco held his breath. Perhaps this would be the end of Dolohov. Bloodlust swirled through his veins as he watched his old mentor writhe in the air, trapped in a cocoon of shimmering red. He wanted Dolohov dead. He didn’t care how it happened, but he wanted to watch the life leave him. 

Dolohov thrashed, his wand slicing and breaking the spell. He crashed to the ground and barely had a moment to recover before Shacklebolt’s Killing Curse came barreling towards him. He rolled out of the way and fired back with a sneer. 

The Minister dodged the deadly curse and then flourished his wand like a whip, a dense, black curse escaping from the end and striking Dolohov in the heart. 

The High Minister stumbled back, his wand arm dropping limply to his side as the black curse wracked his body. His brow furrowed, his jaw tightened in determination as he fought against the spell. Taking a step forward, Dolohov’s legs buckled and he dropped to his knees. 

There was sweat on Shacklebolt’s brow, but his wand never wavered as his spell weakened Dolohov. 

Shoulders slumping, breath ragged, Dolohov sneered at Shacklebolt. With tremendous effort, he lifted his wand, gripping it hard though his arm shook. He aimed at the Minister. 

The black spell was released as Dolohov’s mouth began to form words, but Shacklebolt never gave his enemy the chance to finish his spell. 

_“Avada Kedavra!”_ The Minister’s spell was so bright that Draco’s eyes burned, but he didn’t dare blink or shield his face. 

His breath caught in his throat as Dolohov was engulfed in a blaze of green. For a brief moment, Draco was sure that it wouldn’t work. Dolohov was far too deadly to be killed. 

But then the High Minister’s arm dropped, his face went slack, and his body went limp, falling sideways to the ground. 

Antonin Dolohov was dead. 

The field erupted in a chorus of cheers and outraged cries. People began running about in a flurry of excited or panicked movement, but Draco stood rooted to the spot. 

Dolohov was dead. 

It felt as though a dragon in his chest had soared into the air. A heavy weight lifted off of him, and he felt as if sunlight was peeking through the cracks in his soul. 

Draco was suddenly jostled roughly and wheeled around, brandishing his wand. 

Charlie barely slowed down in his pursuit of a Death Eater. He cast a grin over his shoulder. “Sorry, mate!” And then he disappeared into the chaos. 

Draco blinked, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings again. Dolohov’s death had bolstered the Order’s spirits, and it seemed that it had extinguished the Death Eaters’. Most of Dolohov’s men were turning on the spot, trying to Disapparate. But the Order had set up Anti-Apparition wards when they arrived, so their efforts were futile. Upon this realisation, many Death Eaters were attempting to make a run for it. 

Charlie wasn’t the only one grinning. Half the Order was smiling gleefully as they attempted to round up the retreating Death Eaters. The group that had been inside the house was now flooding the battlefield, overwhelming the remaining Death Eaters in sheer numbers. 

Snapping into action, Draco stunned a Death Eater sprinting by and then took off after another. A few were still dueling, making their final stand. But they were outnumbered. Within a matter of minutes, the battle was dying down. The last of the Death Eaters had either fled into the forest or been stunned or killed. 

_They had won._

The battle was ending, and the Order was victorious. 

Draco could scarcely believe it. Dolohov was dead. The rest of the surviving Death Eaters had been arrested or had gone into hiding. 

He felt elated, relieved, triumphant. And there was only one person he wanted to share that feeling with. 

If only he could find her. 

He made his way across the battlefield, looking carefully at each person in turn. He saw many stunned or dead Death Eaters. Surely the process of transporting all of them to the Ministry would take hours. There were many wounded from both sides. The most severely injured were receiving help from Madam Pomfrey, who Draco guessed had arrived with Shacklebolt’s reinforcements. Others were being transported back to Headquarters. 

It was likely that Granger was helping the wounded there, but Draco wanted to check everywhere here before leaving the scene. He continued across the lawn, pausing at the body of a brunette witch a few years older than Granger. 

As the minutes passed, he shook away the fear that was creeping into his bones. Granger was alive. She had to be. 

“Draco,” a small voice called from nearby. 

He wheeled around, his heart leaping into his throat. 

Luna looked tiny slumped against the external wall of the enormous house. Her leg was twisted oddly and her shoulder was almost certainly out of place. 

“Lovegood, you’re hurt.” Draco hurried to her. 

She smiled weakly at him. “I’ll be alright. Do you have your Portkey? I used mine earlier to help Padma and it must have fallen through hole in my pocket after I returned.” 

Draco nodded and reached into his pocket to grasp his wrapped Portkey. But he paused. “Niffler.” 

Luna grimaced as she tried to sit up straighter. “Hippogriff.” 

Satisfied, Draco grabbed hold of Luna’s uninjured arm and unwrapped his Portkey. 

A moment later, Luna and Draco landed in the living room at Headquarters. Immediately, Dawlish and another Auror had their wands trained on them. 

“Hinkypunk,” Draco and Luna said in unison. 

Satisfied, the Aurors lowered their wands, and Draco bent to pick up Luna. He carried her, following the cries of pain coming from the sitting room. 

“Minor injuries?” a Healer inquired, hurrying over to them. There was a smear of blood on the young man’s right cheek, and his brow was sweaty from hours of frantic Healing. 

“Yes,” Draco answered. “It doesn’t seem to be life threatening. Broken leg maybe, and a dislocated shoulder.” 

The Healer glanced around. There were at least a dozen people lying on camp beds. “Find an empty bed for her. We have the more serious cases upstairs until we can arrange for transport for them to St. Mungo’s. 

Another Healer brushed past Draco as he took in the information. “Excuse me,” the elderly witch mumbled before leaning over an injured man to tip a potion into his mouth. 

Draco walked between the camp beds, careful not to disturb any of their occupants or jostle Luna too much. He found an empty bed and gently lowered Luna onto it. 

“You’re going to be alright, Luna,” Draco assured her. 

Luna smiled at him as she rested her head on the pillow. “Thank you, Draco.” 

“Luna, when was the last time you saw Granger?” 

Her brow furrowed thoughtfully for a moment. “We were only together for a few minutes after we left the house. Padma and Parvati were both hurt, but only Padma needed to be brought back. Hermione took care of Parvati there and I brought Padma here. By the time I got back to the battle, Hermione had moved on somewhere else.” 

“And you haven’t seen her since?” Draco frowned. 

Luna shook her head. “I’m sure she’s fine. You’ll find her.” Her uninjured arm moved, and a small hand came to rest on his forearm. 

Draco blinked, but felt an odd sense of calm wash over him. 

“Go on,” Luna urged, squeezing his arm gently. “I’m fine.” 

Draco took his opportunity to leave the room, briefly checking the other camp beds for brown curls. He briefly checked the rest of the downstairs rooms before making his way to the upper level. The air seemed thicker up here. Tense. All of the doors were open, revealing the wounded and dying Order members within. Some were alone and resting, others were being frantically tended to by Healers. 

A flash of ginger hair made Draco’s feet halt and he entered the room cautiously. 

Charlie Weasley lay quite still in the bed, the sheets stained dark red with blood. 

Draco’s stomach twisted. Not Charlie. Of all the Weasleys, Draco felt the closest to him. A sentimental man might even call them friends. 

A Healer approached him. 

“What happened to him?” Draco asked. 

“Severing hex to the chest,” the Healer replied softly. “He lost a lot of blood, but we managed to stop it. He’s stable for now.” 

Draco let out a breath of relief. Perhaps Charlie would live. 

“He’s next in line to be transported to St. Mungo’s as long as we don’t get anyone else in with a more dire need,” the Healer explained. 

Draco frowned, thinking of Charlie brushing past him on the battlefield. That hadn’t been very long ago. Somehow he’d managed to get himself injured, treated, and stable in a very short amount of time. 

Unless…

“How long has he been here?” 

The Healer tilted his head thoughtfully. “He was one of the first brought in. It was quite early. Fifteen or twenty minutes after the assault began.” 

_Fuck._

Theo had been at the battle disguised as Charlie, and Draco had let him slip through his fingers. What if he got to Granger? He could have killed her. Panic began to bloom in Draco’s chest. Dolohov was dead, but Theo was still at large. And as long as he breathed, this would never truly be over. 

Draco moved quickly out of the room, ignoring the Healer’s curious stare. 

He had to find someone he could share this information with. Perhaps he could find Shacklebolt or Potter. 

After looking about for a moment, Draco settled on Potter. He would be nearly as concerned as Draco about Granger’s absence. 

Set on his task, he made his way back downstairs. About halfway down the steps,he remembered another reason to seek out Potter. Draco thrust his hands into his pockets in an effort to retrieve the borrowed Invisibility Cloak. If he was going to talk to Potter, he might as well return it while he had the chance. 

But as his hand groped around the inside of his pocket blindly, the smooth, almost water-like texture of the cloak was nowhere to be found. 

Draco paused at the bottom of the steps and turned out his pocket. The pounding in his heart returned as its contents fell into his hand. It had to be there. Surely. Where could it have gone?

But there was no cloak.

Just the two wrapped Portkeys and a scrap of parchment, rolled up and tied with a bit of twine.

Draco frowned at the latter object. It certainly hadn’t been there when he dressed for the day.

Whatever it was, Draco didn’t like it. Fear clutched at his heart as he pulled at the twine and slowly unraveled the parchment.

He was met with a short message. Just a few lines covering the parchment in a familiar, slanted script. 

  
  
  


_I have your Mudblood. You watched her almost die here once. Come alone, or I’ll make sure to finish the job this time._

  
  


Draco couldn’t help the way his hands shook or the tightness in his jaw as he realised just who had left this parchment in his pocket. 

Theo. 

He had Granger. 

Theo had her, and he was going to kill unless he… he… 

_You watched her almost die here once…_

There was only one place Theo could possibly mean. 

And it was a place that Draco had hoped to leave behind for good.

And now he would have to return. Alone. 

_The Manor._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates on Mondays  
> Next chapter posts September 21st
> 
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	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left after this one. I won't keep you in suspense with a long author's note! 
> 
> Thanks to BiscuitsForPotter and DisenchantedGlow as always!
> 
> Enjoy!

Malfoy Manor had always been a dark place. Even when Draco was a child, he had been told what type of magic that resided within those walls. Dark, ancient magic had been built into the house with each stone, but when he was young, Draco had never felt the evil that was in the corridors. It had been a warm and loving place. Even when the Dark Lord took up residence there and darkness hung in the halls more thickly than ever, Draco couldn’t bring himself to hate the home he’d grown up in. But now… 

As the Manor loomed before him, black and cold in the summer dusk, Draco sensed the evil permeating from where he stood Disillusioned beyond the front gates. Perhaps it was just his knowledge of what waited for him inside that had his blood curdling in his veins, but he no longer felt nostalgic or held any warm feelings for the building before him. Only dread and terror. 

He took a deep breath to collect his thoughts. He reminded himself of the facts. Theo was inside. He had Granger, or at least he claimed to. Draco had no backup, and no one knew that he was here. 

His thoughts spiralled wildly to all of the potential ways this could go wrong. 

It could be a trap. Theo could have dozens of Death Eaters inside waiting to kill him. 

It was possible that Theo had placed snares along the way or within the house—dark magic, which could be activated as soon as he entered the gates or the front doors. 

Draco’s stomach lurched with horror when he thought of the worst possibility of all. 

_Granger could be dead already._

Draco shook his head, ridding his mind of those thoughts. He was about to face Theo and he had to be focused. He thought of Dolohov’s training, pulling every lesson from where he kept them buried in his mind. He brought them forward, letting them drown his concern for himself and Granger. Clenching his jaw and gripping his wand, Draco took two steps forward. 

The wards admitted him, and he passed through the gate. He paused, waiting for… _something_. He wasn’t sure. An alarm to blare or a trap to spring. When nothing happened, he made his way up the long walk toward the front entrance. He moved slowly and silently, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of movement. 

Darkness surrounded Draco with each step he took. Silence buzzed in his ears.  
  
When he drew close enough that the Manor came into focus, he noticed that the exterior walls were dingy from lack of care and the East wing of the house was no longer recognisable at all. 

Blackened. Covered in scorch marks. 

The fire. 

Theo had told him that Dolohov’s rage had set the house ablaze after Draco deserted the Manor. Draco looked up, seeing his bedroom window and noticing that the fire seemed to have started there and radiated outwards. He wondered how extensive the damage was. Was the house salvageable, or would it be condemned—torn down and erased from the map? Just a dark blemish on the Wiltshire countryside, forgotten to the ages. 

As he approached the house, he raised his wand. _“Homenum Revelio Charta."_ The map materialised before him, showing that the house was vacant except for two blue dots in the drawing room. 

He should have known. Granger was already far too familiar with the drawing room floor, and Draco’s heart clenched at the idea of her once again being tortured in his home. 

The news of the capture and subsequent escape of the Golden Trio from Malfoy Manor had spread amongst various Death Eater circles in the weeks before the Battle of Hogwarts—first as tawdry gossip and then as a cautionary tale for what _not_ to do with prisoners of war. 

If Dolohov trained Theo the same way _he_ had been trained, then Draco knew that Theo had been taught to prey on emotional vulnerability. Undoubtedly, Theo would try to use Draco’s concern and affection for Granger to his advantage. 

A year ago, this wouldn’t have been an issue. He would have strode cooly and confidently to face his enemy. There had been nothing inside him—no special attachments or emotional distractions. Dolohov had taught him to know better than that. 

Feelings were signs of weakness that could be easily preyed upon, and Dolohov had been thorough when trying to rid Draco of every last one of them. 

Yes, a year ago, Draco wouldn’t have felt an ounce of fear in this situation. 

But now… 

The thought of Granger in distress, in danger, perhaps even dead… Loving her had awoken so much within him that he hardly recognised the man who stood before the burnt Manor. 

Weak. Soft. Vulnerable. 

But vulnerable or not, there was no choice but to move forward. 

Draco reached the front steps and his feet halted. The front doors were not shut tight or warded. They were thrown open wide, acting as a taunting invitation—beckoning him towards the danger that surely waited inside. 

He took a deep breath.

And then a step.

It looked exactly as Draco remembered it. The fire had not reached this far. He recalled the way his mother’s stylish high heels had clicked on the floor. She’d been so confident and imposing when he was young, so unlike the diminished woman she’d become before she left. 

Draco’s footsteps made no sound as he crept through the house on his way to the drawing room. The door was open, and a dim light was shining within. As he approached, he heard a deep voice speaking. It was smooth and light, almost conversational, though no one spoke back. 

Though he was close to the open doorway, Draco could just make out fragments of sentences. 

“—simple really—know he’ll come for you—”

Draco halted in the doorway and took in the scene before him. Theo stood in the center of the room, Granger bound on her knees at his feet. He was speaking to her softly, his wand under her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. Draco fought the murderous rage that bubbled up within him at the sight. 

He thought of the last time she’d been in this room, over two years ago. Small, defenseless. A different maniac looming over her. 

Theo looked at Granger like a snake about to devour a mouse. His brown eyes glinted maliciously as he spoke quietly to her, whispering malicious words Draco couldn’t quite hear. 

Draco had expected to see Granger looking fearful or perhaps teary. But she was no damsel. Instead, her eyes were filled with the most hateful rage Draco had ever seen. Her wild hair seemed to crackle with it as she glared at her captor. 

Gripping his wand tightly, Draco tried to line up a shot, but Theo was too close to Granger. He couldn’t be sure that she would be out of harm’s way if he tried to hex Theo from his current location. But he could wait. He could have patience. This was what all that training was for. It had prepared him for this exact moment, when everything was at stake. 

So he watched in silence, taking his time, though he was sure the staccato of his heartbeat would give him away. He squinted, looking for something—anything that might help him. A way to begin. 

That’s when he saw it. A pale shimmering between himself and where Theo held Granger. Thin. Barely noticeable. Ethereal, almost.

A Shield Charm. Of course. 

Even if he tried to hex Theo from here, he would be unable to. He would need to disable the shield first, and doing so would certainly give away his location. 

Draco immediately began recalculating. He allowed himself to dive into thought, though his eyes never left the scene in the drawing room. 

And then a cruel voice rose from beyond the door, raising all the hair on his arms. 

_“Isn’t that right, Draco?”_

Theo. 

His former friend—The Reaper—turned to face him, a sickening smile stretched across his face and a crazed glint in his eye.

Granger’s head snapped to the side, the fire in her eyes immediately evaporating and giving way to terror as she searched for him. 

Draco released the Disillusionment Charm and stepped into the drawing room properly. He kept his wand trained on Theo and did his best to keep his eyes from flicking to Granger. He couldn't let himself be distracted by the sight of her.

Theo smiled at him, twirling a wand in his fingers—Granger’s wand. His own wand was trained steadily on Draco. “Granger thought you’d bring the Order along, but I knew you wouldn’t be stupid enough to risk her life like that.” 

Draco ignored Theo and directed his attention to Granger. “Are you alright?” he asked, barely taking his eyes off of his enemy. 

Granger nodded, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Theo had silenced her.

“Let her go.” Draco’s voice was low and cold. “This is between us.” 

Tilting his head, Theo pretended to consider it. “No, I don’t think I will.” His tone was mocking as he placed Granger’s wand behind his ear. “You see, once I’ve finished with you, perhaps I’ll have a bit of fun with Granger.” His fingers twisted around one of her curls and she pulled her head away with a grimace. “She’s gotten so pretty… for a Mudblood.” 

Draco knew Theo was trying to get him to lose focus—lose control. He knew this was all a trap designed to bring him to his death. He knew it was more important than ever for him to push his rage aside. And yet no matter what he told himself, his mind continued to conjure images of what would happen to Granger if he lost this battle—Theo forcing Granger down, holding her still as she tried to scream through the silencing spell, turning her face to make her look at Draco’s dead body nearby… 

His jaw clenched. A muscle in his cheek twitched. 

Theo must have seen, for his lips curled back in a vicious grin. 

“It may disappoint you to hear that Charlie Weasley is alive,” Draco said, hoping to keep Theo’s attention away from Granger. Perhaps if he could just keep Theo talking for a while, Draco would have time to think of a plan. He knew a duel was coming, but if he could gain the upperhand over Theo, it could make all the difference. 

He had to figure out how to disable the Shield Charm quickly. He only had one shot at it, and if Theo saw it coming, he was likely to kill Granger before Draco could get her to safety. What Draco needed was time… time to properly assess the situation. 

“Oh, I never intended for Charlie to die. Maybe I’ve grown soft with all the time I’ve spent pretending to be him, but I just couldn’t bring myself to dispose of him.” Theo paced around Granger, his fingers dancing through her curls and running along her jaw. “Not yet, at least.” 

Draco’s eyes followed the movement, but he forced himself not to let the anger seep into his bones. It passed over him like a shiver, but then he sent it away. “But you have his hair. You could have simply replaced him.” 

“Charlie Weasley is far more useful to me alive, for now. I cast the severing hex with the intention of simply removing him from the battle. I knew that if he wasn’t badly wounded, he’d likely be revived and return to the fight. So I needed him hurt badly enough to ensure that he wouldn’t be coming back too soon.

“Only one person saw me cast the curse. That Hufflepuff girl—Susan, I think her name was. She ran to help Charlie and took him away to get help. When she came back, I took care of her. I couldn’t have her telling anyone that Charlie was at death’s door, now could I?”

Theo had killed Susan Bones. Draco filed the information away. “But, the code words…” Draco prompted. How could Theo have gone so long undetected? 

“I never tried to fight as part of a group, so I didn’t need to use them. I spent most of the battle looking for _you_ , Draco. But when I couldn’t find you, I settled for Granger instead.” Theo knelt next to Granger and used one finger to turn her chin to face him. Draco saw her strain against her bonds, her fingers flexing from where her wrists were tied—reaching out in an effort to summon her wand. 

Theo continued, not noticing or caring that she was trying to subvert him. “I’m sure you noticed her weaknesses, the way she gives herself away ever so slightly as she duels. I just had to wait until she was alone. Oliver Wood saw the Stunning Spell hit her, but didn’t see me cast it. I told him I’d take her back to Headquarters and take care of her. Then I brought her here. She’s very easy to carry.” His eyes swept over Granger’s face and body. “I’m sure you’ve had a wonderful time throwing her around the bedroom.” 

Granger spat in his face, the hateful rage back in full force. Theo chuckled and wiped the spittle from his eye. He looked back to Draco. “I can see why you like her.” 

Theo stood up and took a few steps closer to Draco, still staying within the protective barrier. “Then I just had to make sure you knew where to find us. I planned to just slip the note into your pocket, but when I discovered that you had Potter’s cloak as well… It was just too tempting. I knew I couldn’t leave Granger for long, but I couldn’t resist using the cloak for a couple more kills. Some of your older Order members should have been retired ages ago.” 

“Why not just kill me on the battlefield when you took the cloak? Why bring me here?” Draco could feel his fingernails digging into his palm from gripping his wand so hard, but he didn’t dare let up. 

Theo smiled. “Once you put a plan into action, you shouldn’t change it. There wouldn’t have been any thrill in killing you there, where you’d never know it was me. No, Draco, when you die, I want to make sure you know exactly who got the best of you.”

Theo’s head cocked to the side, something chilling glinting in his eyes. “Do you wonder what your father would think of your interest in Granger?” 

Draco felt rooted to the spot; his blood pounded in his ears. “He’ll never need to find out, given that he’s dead.” 

Theo grinned. “Oh, he found out.” 

“What?” 

“I told him all about it. Or at least what I suspected. I wasn’t sure about you two until after Lucius died, you see. But your interest in her was obvious. Do you wonder what he had to say about it?” 

Despite the warm, July air, Draco felt cold. _“You_ killed my father.” 

“Don’t seem so surprised,” Theo scoffed. “I escaped Azkaban, remember? Sneaking in to murder your dear old dad was just a warm up for that.” 

Draco shook his head. “Why kill him? Was it just payback for attacking the safehouse?” 

Theo shrugged. “That was the official reason I gave Dolohov, but the truth is that I’ve been itching to make you hurt for as long as I can remember.” 

Draco’s brow furrowed, still unable to believe that everything he’d ever shared with Theo had been a lie. Their entire friendship had been nothing more than an act. Though he had mourned his friendship with Theo weeks ago, he couldn’t stop the clenching in his heart. “Why?” 

Theo’s lips pulled up in a sneer. “I’ve been in your shadow my entire life. At Hogwarts you were always the one in charge. All the other Slytherins worshipped the ground you walked on, though I could never figure out why. And then the Dark Lord chose _you_ to mark as his youngest Death Eater. Even _Dolohov_ chose to train you first. I did my best to stand out, to learn what I could in the background, but it wasn’t until you left that I had my true opportunity to prove myself. To step out of your shadow for the first time and rise above by becoming far more powerful than you. 

“I studied hard and practised day and night until I had surpassed your skill level. And, with time, I was even able to grow beyond Dolohov’s capabilities. You see, nothing’s impossible when you’re a _motivated_ student. If you hadn’t been so reluctant, there’s no limit to what you could have achieved.” Theo tilted his head, assessing Draco with curiosity. 

“Did you know they started calling me ‘The Reaper’?” Theo seemed proud. He puffed out his chest as he twirled his wand in his fingers. “Did _you_ ever get a title?” 

“I never wanted one.” 

“Well, I suppose that’s the difference between you and I. I was never ashamed of what I am, whereas you… your shame makes you weak,” spat Theo, eyeing Draco with disgust. 

“Killing dozens of innocents isn’t something to be proud of.” 

Theo laughed, taking a languid walk around Granger to stand behind her. “And yet, you _have_ killed dozens of innocents, haven’t you, Draco? Do you think you’re any better than I am?”

Shaking his head, Draco readjusted his wand in his hand. “No, but I want to be.” 

Theo’s lips curled in unmistakable hatred before he glanced down at Granger. “And you think she’s the ticket to your redemption, do you?” He paused, eyes flicking back and forth between Granger and Draco. He pulled Granger’s wand from behind his ear and twirled in his fingers. “You know, now that Dolohov is dead, I think I’ll take up the reins myself. It’ll take a while to recoup the losses sustained today, but I think that over time I can continue the work my predecessors started.” 

His arm lifted, raising his wand and aiming directly at the back of Granger’s head. “And I think I’ll start right here… with Granger.” 

He was out of time. Without hesitation, Draco released the most powerful ward-breaking spell he knew. It hit Theo’s Shield Charm with blinding force, but Draco didn’t dare blink away from the flash as the barrier burst apart. 

As Theo stumbled in surprise, rearing back to return fire, Draco flicked his wand at Granger and sent her sliding across the marble floor away from the center of the duel. Still bound, she slipped onto one side and grimaced as she curled into a tight ball instinctively. Draco took another split second to cast a Shield Charm around her, and in that moment, a hex from Theo hit him in the leg. He staggered back with a gasp, feeling the leg of his trousers soak through with blood. 

Gritting his teeth, he pushed the pain away from his mind and swirled his wand, conjuring a whip of purple flames. They shot towards Theo and wrapped around his left wrist, wrenching a wand from his hand—Granger’s wand. Theo’s face contorted in pain as the flames forced him to his knees, bending his arm into an unnatural shape. 

Just when Draco thought he might have gotten the better of Theo, the man’s mouth opened in an enraged snarl and his wand sliced through the air like a knife cutting through rope. He was on his feet in a flash, and the next thing Draco knew, fire was barrelling down upon him from all directions. Each of the dozens of oil lamps in the room was spitting its flames at him. Draco quickly shielded himself against them, still feeling their heat licking at his skin through the barrier. 

The flames didn’t stop coming, and Draco could feel his shield growing weaker with each passing second. With a mighty push, his shield bounded up, deflecting the flames, and they went scattering around the room before disappearing with a wave of Theo’s wand. 

As Theo was momentarily distracted by dousing the fire, Draco shot another disarming spell and managed to hit Theo directly in the chest. His wand flew through the air and landed under the wingback chair on the far side of the room. Theo’s eyes widened as Draco bound him and forced him to his knees before advancing on his former friend. 

“What’s your plan now, Draco?” Theo hissed as the ropes tightened around his chest. “Will you send me to Azkaban, even knowing that I’ll escape before midnight? Or will you just kill me now?” 

Draco faltered. He couldn’t send Theo to Azkaban. Somehow, the prison couldn’t hold him. He was too slippery—too powerful to be contained within those walls. 

Theo’s voice slithered into his mind, wrapping itself around his doubts. “You see? The logical answer is right in front of you. In order to defeat me, you’ll need to do what you do best. The only thing you’re good for.” 

Draco faltered. _The only thing you’re good for._ He’d said something similar to Granger many months ago. But it wasn’t true, was it? Granger hadn’t fallen for an assassin, she’d fallen for _him._ All of him. The good and the bad. 

Theo chuckled. “I don’t know what Dolohov ever saw in you. You’re _nothing_ like me. You’ll never be strong enough to do what must be done.” 

Then, out of nowhere, Theo’s bonds snapped and whipped away from him. Theo rose to his feet, a burst of magic throwing Draco backwards through the air until he hit the far wall with a thud. Hand slicing through the air, Theo sent Draco’s wand soaring. It skittered across the floor and out of sight. 

Draco landed on the floor in a heap, only to be dragged into the air by the same ropes that had held Theo a moment ago. They wrapped around him, squeezing tight and constricting his air. 

Theo held up a hand, one finger curling to beckon Draco to him. Like a magnet, Draco hovered over to The Reaper, toes dragging the floor until Theo’s fingers curled around Draco’s throat. His brown eyes flickered over Draco’s face, a hint of confusion behind them. He scoffed and shook his head slightly. “Fool. You should have killed me.” Theo released his grip and sent Draco crumpling to his knees. 

Draco struggled against his ropes, fear seizing his body as Theo turned his back on him and stalked towards Granger, summoning his wand to his hand as he went. Draco’s muscles screamed with the effort to free himself, but the magical ropes only squeezed tighter. Blood from Draco’s wounded leg began to pool on the floor beneath him, hot and sticky. 

Granger thrashed as Theo approached her, scrambling to find shelter that she would never reach. Theo waved his hand over her and a gasp escaped her. He’d lifted the silencing charm. 

Dread washed over Draco like a disease. “No!” he shouted. “Leave her alone.” 

Theo just grinned over his shoulder at him before reaching down and curling his fist into Granger’s curls. With a tug, he dragged her across the floor as a strangled cry left her throat. 

“Don’t touch her!” snarled Draco, struggling against his ropes to no avail. 

Theo wrenched Granger to her knees a few metres from Draco and then knelt beside her, hands wrapping around her jaw to force her head up. He murmured in her ear loud enough for Draco to hear. “I think I’ll give you two a moment to talk. It’s only fair that you have an opportunity to say goodbye. 

As Theo stood and looked between his two bound captives, Granger’s eyes met his. “I’m sorry, Draco.” 

Draco’s heart constricted in his chest as he watched her fingers flex as if trying to no avail to summon her wand. “Granger, listen. It’ll—it’ll be alright. Don’t give up, just—” He wanted to reassure her that they would get out of this somehow, but he didn’t see how. Bound, wandless, held captive by a madman with incredible power. The pounding of his heart seemed to know. 

This was the end. 

Granger’s lip quivered as her tearfilled eyes darted over his face, as if trying to look at every bit of him for the last time. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice was no more than a whisper, and a tear fell from one eye and trailed a path down her cheek. 

He longed to reach out to her. What he wouldn’t give to hold her in his arms one last time. To wipe away her tears and kiss her. To protect her from whatever Theo had planned. To steal time for just a moment and spend it telling her everything he never had. 

“Granger… Hermione… it’s okay. I—I love you.” 

A sob erupted from her lips and her eyes closed as more tears escaped them. “I love you, too.” 

“How touching,” Theo drawled from nearby, twirling his wand in his fingers. 

Granger flinched. 

“Theo,” Draco said as Theo took a step towards Granger, “you don’t have to do this.”

Theo laughed coldly. “Oh, I know I don’t _have_ to. But I really _want_ to, you see.” 

And then, without further preamble, Theo’s wand sliced through the air. _“Crucio!”_

Draco jumped as Granger’s screams pierced the air, high and shrill. Her body bowed, contorting into an impossible position as her muscles spasmed. The sound shot through Draco, scalding him from the inside out with grief and rage. 

He felt the pain as if the spell had been cast on himself, blinding and hot, blistering and burning. 

With a jolt, he realised that he was truly aflame. The ropes that bound him were on fire, turning to ash in a flurry of accidental, wandless magic. He could feel it simmering under his skin as Granger writhed on the floor. 

Dolohov had only begun to introduce these advanced wandless techniques when Draco defected, but he focused his energy inward, pulling forth his power until it settled in his chest like a bomb. Then it exploded from him, knocking Theo back and filling the air with a deafening storm of magic. The man crashed into the wall with a crack and slid down, his head lolling side to side in a daze. 

Rising to his feet, Draco forced his magic against Theo’s chest, holding him to the wall as he made his way through the whipping winds to wrap his hands around his enemy’s throat. 

Theo’s eyes widened in shock and fear as Draco rechanneled his magic, pulling inward instead of pushing out. He could feel Theo’s magic draining, seeping into Draco through his fingertips. It was a temporary spell, one Draco had never attempted before, but as Theo paled and his eyelids began to droop, he knew it had worked. 

Theo was at his mercy, wandless, drained of his magic, his thin neck beneath Draco’s hands. It would be so easy to throttle him—to snap his neck and leave him here to rot. 

_The only thing you’re good for._

Draco’s fingers loosened, and he backed away from Theo enough to summon his wand to his hand. 

“Kill me,” Theo challenged, his voice hoarse. 

“No,” Draco said. “Because you’re right, Theo. I’m not like you.” He lifted his wand to Theo’s heart. _“Stupefy.”_

Theo crumpled to the ground, unconscious. For good measure, Draco bound him tightly and warded the ropes against any magic Theo may still possess. 

Draco wheeled around, racing to Granger where she lay panting on the floor, her eyes wide with shock and confusion. _“Finite,”_ he murmured, and her bonds faded away. He knelt, helping her stand up onto shaky legs. His fingers trailed along her jaw, examining her for signs of abuse before cupping her cheek tenderly. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, her eyes darting around the room as if trying to piece together what had happened. She glanced at his bleeding leg and her brow furrowed with concern. “You’re hurt,” she gasped.

“I’ll be alright,” Draco assured her, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear and dropping a kiss to her forehead. “I know a great Healer who can patch me up later.” 

With a watery smile, she stepped into him, wrapping her arms around his middle and burying her face in his chest. She clung to him desperately, her breath shuddering. “How did you do that? That magic…” 

Draco buried his face in her curls, feeling the warmth of her body against his. “I don’t know.” 

“It was incredible.” She lifted her head, her honey eyes swimming with tears. “Why didn’t you kill him?” 

Draco’s heart clenched. In truth he didn’t entirely know why Theo still drew breath. If anyone deserved to die, it was Theo. And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way that Granger had looked at him after their escape from the Longbottom house. Like he was nothing but a soulless killer. He couldn’t quell the fear in his heart at the idea of being someone like Theo. “I… I couldn’t prove him right.” 

Granger nodded, her brow furrowed slightly. “I wanted you to kill him,” she admitted, her eyes shining. 

Draco paused, feeling a shiver run down his spine at her confession. He didn’t know how to respond. Was she upset with him for letting Theo live? 

She opened her mouth, a small smile gracing her lips. “I’m really proud of you.” Her arms tightened around him and she nestled into his chest. 

Resting his head against her curls, Draco felt the hammering in his heart begin to slow. 

“What should we do with him?” 

Her voice brought Draco’s attention back to the unconscious madman against the far wall. “I don’t know. If we take him to Azkaban or the Ministry, he’s likely to escape again. I drained his magic, but the spell only works for an hour or so. And Dawlish mentioned that the Aurors' magic-suppressant bonds didn’t work on Theo for some reason. There’s no telling if they would be able to hold him.” 

Granger nodded and pulled away from Draco to pick up her wand from the floor nearby. She approached Theo, head tilted to the side thoughtfully. 

“Maybe I _should_ just kill him,” Draco said, his stomach twisting at the thought of killing an unarmed, unconscious man. He could probably do it. Theo certainly deserved it. It would hurt, but he could come to terms with it in time. 

It was the only way Draco could think of to keep Theo from coming after him and Granger again. He’d come so close to watching Granger be murdered today, and he would do whatever it took to prevent that from ever happening again. If that meant crossing a line he swore he never would, so be it. 

“We could…” Granger trailed off, glancing sideways at him. “We should Obliviate him.” 

A shiver ran through Draco’s bones. “Obliviate him…” 

“I could erase everything. All of his memories from the war, us, Dolohov, Hogwarts… I could even erase magic from his mind completely.” 

Draco watched as her half-formed idea began to take shape. Her furrowed brow relaxed as her jaw clenched in fierce determination. “He would have an entire set of false memories. We could send him far away to live as a Muggle. He might still have moments of accidental magic, but if I do a good job, he won’t have enough knowledge to harness his true power or understand what’s happening. He would be like a child… like a muggleborn before finding out what magic is.” 

“You can do that?” 

Granger nodded. “I did it with my parents, remember? It’s not just about erasing what you don’t want them to remember. You have to plant memories so that they never realise that something is gone.” 

Draco considered this. Leaving Theo alive was a risk, but this was a far better option than sending him to Azkaban. In many ways, this would be a fate worse than death for Theo. He would live a life without knowing who he was, not knowing _what_ he was. A life of false memories and grasping at half-forgotten dreams only to feel them slip away like water through his fingers. But it _was_ a life, and it was far better than Theo deserved. 

If anyone could pull this off, it was Granger. She was the most skilled and brilliant witch he’d ever met in his life. If she believed this was the right course of action, he would follow her lead. 

He’d saved her life enough; maybe it was time to let her save him for a change. 

“Are you alright doing that?” he asked, placing a hand gently on her upper arm. “I mean… after having to Obliviate your parents…” 

Granger’s lips twitched up slightly. “You’re very sweet to be concerned, but I’m not such a delicate flower.” She squared her shoulders. “This has to be done. I have no qualms whatsoever about erasing everything that once made him _him_.” 

Draco nodded, once again filled with pride for his warrior lioness. “Do it.”

Granger set to work, kneeling close to Theo’s unconscious form and murmuring, _“Obliviate.”_ She closed her eyes as she pulled the memories from Theo’s mind. 

Draco watched her work for several minutes, admiring her concentration as she filtered out Theo’s memories of anything he could no longer keep. She kept her eyes closed, shaking her head and biting her lip every few minutes. Draco stood nearby, not daring to move away from his post in case Theo began to stir. 

But he lay quite still, and Draco allowed his mind to wander to what they would have to do next. They couldn’t tell Shacklebolt what they’d done. The Order would never accept that they let Theo go, memories or no memories. They would need to tell them that Theo had died in the struggle. 

But how could they explain the lack of a body? 

The black soot-covered ceiling above him offered an eloquent solution. Fire. The Death Eaters had used it on the Westenberg House. It could be entirely plausible for Theo to try to use Fiendfyre in a duel. But they would need to contain it somehow. Granger had managed to contain the flames from the wardrobe, but how much could she handle? If it got out of control, the magical fire could ravage the entire countryside. 

He would discuss it with her when she finished with Theo’s memories. 

Draco couldn’t say exactly how long Granger worked, but it felt like the better part of an hour had passed before she stood up and turned to him with tired eyes. “Finished.” 

Draco nodded. “We should check him for any magical objects. Wouldn’t want anything to spark uncertainty or questions in his mind.” 

They both patted Theo down, checking his pockets. Draco found Potter’s Invisibility Cloak and slipped it into his own trousers pocket. Otherwise, Theo’s pockets were empty. His wand was across the room. Draco summoned it, feeling the dark magic hum through him as he held the ebony wand in his fingers. 

How many souls had The Reaper claimed with this wand? How many people were tortured at the end of it?  
  
“I think we should take him to Wales,” Granger suggested, standing up and brushing her hands off on her trousers. “International magical travel is heavily monitored, so that’s as far away as we could take him without suspicion.” 

It seemed that she had also realised what would need to be done. Draco could scarcely believe that she was willing to lie to everyone—even Potter—about what they’d done. But he could tell by the set of her jaw and the hard look in her eyes that this was not something that was going to haunt her. 

“I agree,” Draco said. “As far as faking the death goes, I was wondering about Fiendfyre…” 

She glanced sideways at him. “The whole house?” Her eyes were wide with fear. 

“Whatever you can handle for the containment. It just needs to be big enough to convince the Order that he couldn’t have escaped.” 

Granger flexed her fingers on her right hand as if they ached her. “I can’t do the entire house. But I could do just this room.” 

“Are you sure? You’ve just done a great deal of advanced magic. If you’re tired—” 

“I’m fine,” Granger assured him. “I can contain it in this room. I’m sure of it.” 

Draco nodded and levitated Theo to the doorway. He looked around the drawing room, eyes drifting to the spot where Granger had been tortured on two separate occasions. 

He couldn’t wait to watch it burn. 

“Do you know the spell?” Granger asked him, moving towards the wall and raising her wand. 

A shiver passed through Draco as he realised that he would have to be the one to start the flames. “I do.” 

Granger nodded appreciatively. “Use Theo’s wand. Then cast it into the flames.” 

“When you’re ready.” 

It took several minutes for Granger to prepare each wall, the ceiling, and floor for the flames. She spent extra time on each of the drawing room doors, finally moving to the exit with Draco. She cast him a confident look. “Ready.” 

Nerves settling in his belly, Draco raised Theo’s wand, aimed it at the floor in the center of the room, and murmured the spell he hoped he'd never have to use. 

The cursed flames erupted from his wand, colliding with the spot where Granger had been screaming moments ago. The room caught immediately, going up in a blinding blaze. Draco tossed in Theo’s wand and then slammed the doors shut. 

Granger kept her wand trained on the door, knuckles white as she clutched it in her fist, her jaw set in concentration. 

From within the room, Draco heard the flames licking the walls. The fire roared, causing the house to creak and groan. 

Would Granger’s containment hold? 

Sweat beaded on her brow with the strain of magic upon her. Draco wished he knew how to help her. But it seemed that all he could do was stand ready to Apparate her away to safety if the fire raged out of her control. 

Inside the room, Draco knew that the flames were burning everything away. All of the fine finishes that had greeted the Dark Lord on his first visit to the Manor. The decor that had graced the walls for generations and proven to everyone they hosted just how wealthy the Malfoy family was. 

It would all be gone after this. 

_Good,_ thought Draco. _Let it all burn._

After many minutes, the fire had nothing left to destroy, and Draco could hear the flames dying down behind the heavy, wooden doors. Granger didn’t relent or move her wand until the creaking and groaning of wood was silent. She was shaking from the exertion, and Draco grabbed her arm to keep her upright as she stumbled. 

“Well done, Granger.” He pressed his lips against her temple. 

She let out a shaky breath before waving her wand to open the doors. 

The flames were gone, and the drawing room was destroyed. Every bit of the room was black and bare. Ash filled the air, settling on piles of charred remains of furniture. 

Draco observed the scene with morbid satisfaction. This house hadn’t felt like home to him in years, but this… this felt like a step in the right direction. The Fiendfyre had destroyed the room, yes, but with it Draco felt as if it had wiped away some of the darkness that had settled into the very bones of the house.

Draco and Granger used Potter’s cloak to Apparate with Theo’s bound, unconscious form to the tiny city of St Davids in South Wales. The streets were deserted, illuminated only by the occasional lamps that dotted the side of the road. For the first time, it occurred to Draco just how late it had gotten. _Early,_ even. 

“Should we just leave him in the street?” Granger hissed as she, like him, took in the scene before them.

Before Draco could bring himself to look for a quiet corner to dump Theo, a high peal of laughter echoed down the city streets. Both he and Granger jumped at the sudden sound. His first instinct was to draw his wand, but that impulse died the moment he saw two young women approaching, smiling and chatting as their high heeled shoes clacked against the cobbled street. 

Yes. They would do nicely.

Draco wasn’t sure why he knew it was the right thing to do, but a small voice in the back of his head told him that it was better to get this new Theo started on the right foot than to leave him in the gutter. 

Quickly, Draco unbound Theo and levitated him out from under the Invisibility Cloak.

“What are you doing?” Granger whispered as he dropped Theo’s body unceremoniously in plain view of the approaching young women. 

Draco felt an unexpected lurch of pity as he watched the shell of his former friend crumpled on the ground, knowing he’d given Theo a life sentence of confusion and unrest. Never quite feeling like he belonged, but not knowing why.  
  
“Giving him a chance.” 

Before Granger could say another word, Draco murmured the spell that would set Theo’s new life in motion. _“Ennervate.”_

Within moments, Theo sat up, eyes bleary and dazed. He clutched his forehead, as if suffering from a horrible headache. 

From underneath the safety of the Invisibility Cloak, Draco watched as the two women spotted him. They drew back at first, but his piteous state led them to kneel at his side.

“Are you alright?” one of them asked. 

“He’s probably _drunk,_ Lizzie. Let’s go.” The second woman eyed Theo nervously. 

The first girl, Lizzie shook her head. “No, I think he’s hurt.” She reached out, placing a hand on Theo’s shoulder. “Do you need a doctor? What’s your name?”  
  
Theo opened and closed his mouth a few times, as though trying to remember how his tongue worked. “I’m… Th—T-Thomas,” he said finally. “And I’m… okay, I think.” 

Satisfied, Draco grabbed hold of Granger’s arm. She held on tight as they prepared to Apparate back to Headquarters. 

Draco didn’t need to know the end of this story. There were much better ones to live. 

* * *

Despite the late hour, Headquarters was still bustling with activity when Draco and Granger walked through the front door. The Healers were still flitting quickly between camp beds in the sitting room, and Aurors and Order members alike were talking quietly over steaming cups of tea or coffee. Potter was speaking urgently with Bill in the sitting room, his brow furrowed as they talked. His eyes flicked to Draco and Granger as they entered the house. 

“Where the hell have you two been?” he shouted, stepping quickly around camp beds to approach them. “We’ve been worried sick.”  
  
“Theo took her.” Draco’s voice was calm as he responded, though his grip on Granger’s arm never loosened. He watched Potter’s eyes widen and sweep over his best friend from head to toe as if checking for injuries. “He held her at Malfoy Manor.” 

Shacklebolt swept over to them from his office. “Where is Theo now? Did you transport him to the Ministry?” 

Draco shook his head and swallowed thickly. Now was the time to put their lie into action. Beside him, Granger squeezed his bicep. “He’s dead.” 

They recounted their carefully practised story to Potter and Shacklebolt. They explained how Theo had cast the flames to try to kill them, but had been unable to control them. Granger had managed to contain the spell to one room as they escaped, but Theo had been consumed by the inferno. 

Potter and Shacklebolt listened closely to each detail. As the story left Draco and Granger's lips, it became apparent that they would not be questioned. That their word was to be accepted as truth. 

How strange, to finally be trusted, when in fact, this was the biggest lie he’d concocted to date. Still, it was for the best. At least that’s what Draco had been telling himself since Granger erased Theo’s memories. 

When they reached the end of their tale, the Minister sighed and scrubbed his face with his palms. His hands fell to his sides, revealing a rare, soft smile.

“Well then. I am grateful that the two of you made it out alive. And what’s more, you’ve done us all a great service. We are, all of us, in your debt.”

To that, Draco had no response. He simply nodded, choosing to accept the praise rather than vehemently deny it on instinct. Beside him, Granger’s cheeks were flushed and stained with the beginnings of tears. She didn’t say anything either. 

In the silence that followed, Draco almost expected to hear the Minister say something else. To speak about next steps or follow up with another plan of action. When none came, Granger was the first one to find her voice.

“What’s next?” 

Shacklebolt shrugged and gestured to the living room. “Have a bite to eat, get some rest, whatever you’d like. Relax. All of our most wanted Death Eaters are either dead or behind bars.”

“What does that mean?” Granger’s eyes were wide, though her voice remained small.

It was Potter who answered her. His eyes were wet, too. 

“It means… the war is over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter has been delayed one week and will post October 5th! I'm sorry for this, friends, I just couldn't get it done by the 28th. I want that last chap to be perfect for y'all and I just need a little more time to get it ready. Thanks for your patience and understanding! 
> 
> If the angst of this story has been getting you down, I invite you to check out my newer WIP, Bad Books and Second Looks. It's just fun and light and fluffy. And I can promise lots of future smut! 
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/graceful-lioness)  
> Come hang out on the Dept. of Fanfiction [Discord](https://discord.gg/xV5EqN) Server in the #gracefullioness channel.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it!  
> The final chapter!  
> I can't thank you all enough for reading my work. I always get very sentimental when a story comes to a close, and I'm just so grateful that you all are here. Whether you've been with me since the beginning, just picked it up a few weeks ago, or waited until it was complete, I'm so glad you're here. I hope you enjoy the end. 
> 
> As always, all my love to BiscuitsForPotter and DisenchantedGlow, without whom this story would never have gotten past the plunny stages. You're both amazing. Readers, go check out their stuff! They're both brilliant authors as well!

The week after the final battle at Yaxley’s property in Norwich passed in a haze. Clean-up efforts at the battlefield alone took two days. After the dead on both sides had been recovered, the survivors accounted for the whereabouts of all the remaining Order members. It took a few days to track down those who had been injured or escaped. Lists of the dead were compared to those who were initially marked as missing, and by the end of the first week, nearly everyone had been accounted for. 

Shacklebolt took his time taking detailed statements about the battle from every surviving Order member. This also took several days. Draco and Granger were interviewed individually. Draco spent his interview recounting the story of the battle as well as his confrontation with Theo. When it was Granger’s turn, Draco waited nervously in the sitting room while she spoke with the Minister. What would happen if there discrepancies in their stories? Would Shacklebolt suspect that they were lying? Their story wouldn’t stand up to even the tiniest bit of scrutiny. Legilimency or Veritaserum would reveal the truth. All they had was their word. 

But when Granger emerged from the office and joined him, there wasn’t even a hint of worry on her face. She greeted him with a smile and they joined the rest of the Order in the kitchen for dinner.

After the dust had settled, the funerals began. Draco and the rest of the surviving Order members attended at least two a day. Granger stood by his side at each one, holding tight to his hand in her black dress robes. Dean’s funeral was the hardest for her—perhaps because Dean’s parents wept so loudly through the eulogy. She gripped his hand hard as fat tears rolled quickly down her cheeks. After so many funerals of people he had worked with and come to know, even Draco, though he did his best to Occlude, began to feel beaten down by it all. 

Despite the grieving everyone was experiencing over their lost friends, Headquarters was loud and raucous every evening with people celebrating the end of the war. Shacklebolt had allowed George and Lee to bring in more alcohol than usual, and the nights were spent drinking and laughing, sharing stories of those gone and toasting the fallen—and the sudden possibilities of the future. 

With all the excitement and activity at Headquarters, Draco hardly had time to speak to Granger. Potter, it seemed, had taken to sleeping in Ginny’s room, leaving Granger free to share Draco’s room once more. But despite this, they were both so bone tired from their busy days that they fell asleep quickly at night, barely exchanging words as she curled into his side and closed her eyes. 

Draco knew that a conversation was coming—one that would likely be difficult. They hadn’t spoken properly since she pulled away from him after the slaughter at Longbottom house. She seemed to have moved past those feelings of fear, but Draco was too afraid to ask. Perhaps there was another reason for her warming up to him again. Perhaps she just didn’t want to be alone after experiencing so much loss and terror. He didn’t want to chase her away again by asking about it, not when her body was so warm next to his. 

One week after the end of the war, Bill brought Fleur and baby Victoire for a visit. Most of the Order members had not yet met the baby, and most of the witches in the house squealed at the sight of her tiny robes and shoes. 

Draco wasn’t much of a baby person, but his heart hammered in his chest when he saw Granger’s face light up at the sight of Victoire’s bright blue eyes and blonde hair. Fleur offered to let Granger hold her, and as she settled the baby in her arms, a look crossed her face that Draco had never seen before.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she looked down at the baby’s features. A tiny hand extended up, reaching for one of Granger’s loose curls, but Granger intercepted it and the baby’s fist wrapped around one of her fingers. Granger smiled as Victoire let out a giggle. 

Draco’s heart fluttered as Granger’s eyes lifted to his briefly. She beamed at him, her cheeks flushing pink. 

Suddenly, all Draco could imagine was Granger as a mother, holding a child with platinum curls and honey-brown eyes. Sitting next to her as she read to a pair of children in bed by the flickering light of a wand. Tucking them in at night under one of her lumpy, hand-knitted blankets. Teaching them to fly on child-proof brooms while she watched on with worry in her eyes. 

He looked away from the scene before him, blinking rapidly and clearing his throat. Bill was looking at him knowingly. He sent Draco an understanding smile and a nod before reaching out to take his wife’s hand. Fleur smiled at Bill and rested her head on his shoulder as Granger, Ginny, and Luna cooed over Victoire. 

That night, Granger was even quieter than usual as they climbed into bed next to each other. Draco could feel the unspoken words hanging between them as she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his chest, but she was smiling, and she kissed him so sweetly that once again he found himself too cowardly to ask what was on her mind. 

After the funerals had all been attended and the reports had all been given, things began to settle down. Order members began to return to their respective homes. Most of the Weasleys returned to the Burrow, Seamus moved into his mother’s house to care for her as she was released from St Mungo’s, and Luna returned to her father’s home. 

“Hermione, come to the Burrow.” Draco heard Weasley’s irritated tones from two rooms away as he approached the living room. “We’ll make room for you. You shouldn’t need to stay here.” 

“Ron, I’ve told you… I’m not going.” Granger sounded exasperated. Draco crept closer, forcing his ire down, reminding himself that Granger could handle herself where Weasley was concerned. 

“What—For _him?_ Hermione, you can’t honestly… _Malfoy?”_

Draco slowed as he reached the living room. He stood in the doorway and watched as Weasley set down his rucksack with a scowl. 

“Ron, I don’t want to fight with you about this,” Granger sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“You know who he is, Hermione— _what_ he is! The whole Order knows now. How could you be with someone like that? Even ignoring _that,_ after everything he’s done to you, I can’t believe you would just forget…” 

“I haven’t forgotten.” Granger cut him off. “But I have forgiven him.” 

“And what about us?” 

Granger let out a bitter laugh, a harsh, incredulous sound. “Ron, there is no _us._ There hasn’t been for nearly a year. We were never a couple, we were just—” She shook her head. “Listen, you don’t need to be happy for me, but you do need to accept it. I’m not changing my mind.” 

“I’ll never approve,” Weasley spat. 

At that, Draco couldn’t stop the scoff that escaped his throat. Weasley and Granger’s heads snapped to him. Draco stepped forward. “Neither Granger nor I give a Flobberworm’s shit about your approval, Weasley.” 

The ginger man’s face turned purple, and his eyes were filled with so much hate that Draco wondered if he was trying to set him ablaze wandlessly. He rounded on Granger, speaking in low tones. “When you realise what a mistake this is, just know that you’re always welcome at the Burrow.” With that, Weasley scooped up his rucksack and disappeared into the Floo. 

Draco approached Granger and stood before her. “You’re staying?” 

She blinked up at him, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Of course I am.”

“I only thought—” 

“Malfoy.” 

Draco grimaced as a deep voice cut their long-overdue conversation short. He turned to see Shacklebolt standing in the entrance to the living room. “Sir?” 

“Can I see you in my office for a moment?” Shacklebolt’s tone was light, and his face kind, but Draco felt dread seep into his bones. Was he in trouble? Had the Minister discovered discrepancies in his and Granger’s story about Theo? 

Feeling ill, he nodded and stepped away from Granger to follow Shacklebolt down the corridor to the office. The Minister opened the door and Draco’s heart seized in his chest.

There, standing in freshly pressed robes in the middle of Shacklebolt’s office at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, was his mother. 

Draco froze, his heart wanting to run to her but his feet unable to move. 

“Draco,” Narcissa cried, beaming at him with her perfect teeth. 

“Mother—” 

“Her identity has been verified,” Shacklebolt said with a nod. 

“How did you find me?” Draco asked, his eyes unwavering on his mother as he stepped into the office. 

His mother’s eyes were glassy. “I only just heard about the end of the war this morning. I came home to the Manor to look for you and discovered the damage. I thought that perhaps…” Her voice broke and she took a moment to sweep a loose strand of pale hair back into her delicate chignon. “I went to the Ministry to inquire about your fate and Mr Potter informed me that you were alive and directed me to the Minister’s office. He was gracious enough to take time out of his day to bring me here.” She cast Shacklebolt a charming smile. 

“I’ll leave you two to catch up properly,” Shacklebolt said, nodding at Narcissa before departing the office, closing the door behind him. 

“Is it really you?” Draco asked, his voice trembling. His mind conjured horrible images of Theo in his mother’s form. Perhaps the memory charms hadn’t worked. Perhaps Theo had managed to reverse them somehow and had then found his mother wherever she’d been hiding. 

But his fears evaporated when his mother opened her arms to him. “My dragon…” 

Draco’s heart soared. It was her. It _must_ be her. No one, not even Lucius, knew that she sometimes called him ‘dragon’. It had always been a private thing shared between just the two of them. Besides, he doubted that Theo could imitate the look of motherly love Narcissa was giving him. 

Draco’s feet carried him forward, and he threw his arms around her like a child, curling down to bury his face in her shoulder. Her familiar lilac scent enveloped him, and Draco felt tears spring to his eyes as she stroked the back of his neck just like she always used to do. 

His chest tightened, and the first few tears escaped his eyes as she held him. Her arms tightened around him, and he felt her chest shudder with emotion. 

He couldn’t be sure how long they stood in their embrace, but at last he pulled away, wiping his cheeks and looking at her with a smile. “Where did you go?” 

Narcissa sat down in one of the chairs opposite Shacklebolt’s desk and beckoned for Draco to take the other. As he sank into it, she launched into her tale. “The Blacks have property in Greece that isn’t linked to our name. I knew that it would be the safest place to wait out the war.” 

“You could have taken me with you,” Draco said. “Why didn’t you ask?” 

His mother leaned forward, her hand coming to rest on his cheek gently. “Oh, my dragon. I wanted you to choose your own path. I didn’t want to pull you along with me on mine.”

Though her leaving had hurt and frightened him, Draco understood. His parents had dictated his actions for his entire life. If she had insisted that he go with her, he would never have made the choices that had led him to where he was now— _who_ he was now. 

“The Minister told me how you came to him and joined the Order. He said that you were instrumental in bringing the war to an end.” Her eyes were shining with pride. 

Draco bristled. “I don’t know about all that. I was mostly just trying to keep myself and Granger alive.” 

Narcissa’s head tilted thoughtfully. “Granger?” 

Draco’s stomach sank. How would his mother react to the news that his son had fallen in love with a muggle-born? His mother was a kind and loving woman, but she had never been shy about expressing her feelings about pure-blood superiority. 

“Oh, er… yes, I met someone,” Draco said, his cheeks flushing. “Well, I met her a long time ago actually, but we didn’t… We didn’t like each other until more recently.” 

“Anyone I know?” Narcissa prodded, her lips turned up in a gentle smirk. 

Draco rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. “It’s… er… Hermione Granger.” 

Narcissa went pale and drew back slightly as her eyes went wide. A memory flashed through Draco’s mind. Hermione Granger, small and bloody, screaming on the drawing room floor of the Manor. “Oh, yes, of course I remember… That poor girl.” 

Draco nodded. “She’s a Healer now,” he explained. “I—erm… got very sick several months ago and she saved me. Worked night and day to bring me back and help me heal.” 

A pained look crossed Narcissa’s face at the news of Draco’s brush with death. He chose not to tell her the details. She didn’t need to know everything he’d been through over the past year. 

“She sounds like a brilliant young witch. And she’s muggleborn?” 

Anxiety gripped Draco and he hesitated before nodding slowly. “She is.” 

His mother’s eyes dropped to the floor and she pursed her lips for a moment. “And does she reciprocate your feelings?” 

Draco hesitated. Certainly things with Granger were much better than they had been a few days ago, but without talking to her, Draco had no way of knowing for sure that she wanted the same things that he did. And he wanted _everything._

“I think so… It’s rather complicated.” 

“Complicated?” Narcissa raised a pale eyebrow, and Draco was reminded of the way she looked at him when he got less than Outstanding in a class. 

“Yes, we had a bit of a falling out a few weeks ago, and I’m not sure if she can look past… what I am.” 

Understanding flooded his mother’s features, and she brought one of her delicate hands to rest on his. 

Draco’s heart clenched as he expressed his fears to his mother. “I had to do some awful things in order to protect her, and she saw it all. I don’t know if she could possibly want me after what I’ve done. Who could?” 

There were tears in Narcissa’s eyes as she curled her fingers around his hand. “I think you might be surprised at the depth of a woman’s love. There are many things a woman can accept when a man holds her heart.” 

Draco hoped she was right. Certainly Granger still felt feelings of love for him. The way she curled into his side each night, fingers twisting into the soft fabric of his shirt, letting out contented sighs as they drifted off to sleep together—it was obvious that her affections had not _entirely_ waned. 

“Just talk to her,” urged Narcissa. “Communication is vital. Perhaps if I had expressed myself more honestly with your father…” She trailed off, a tear traversing her cheek before she wiped it away. 

Draco’s heart twisted. Did she know about Lucius’ death yet? Had Azkaban’s attempts to contact her ever managed to reach her? “Mother… about Father…” 

Narcissa lifted one of her hands to silence him. “The Minister informed me of your father’s passing. I’ll need time to grieve his loss in my own way. I’m just so sorry that I wasn’t here for you when it happened,” she said as if reading his thoughts. 

Draco nodded, relieved that he wouldn’t have to be the one to break the news to her. “I have a letter for you from him. It’s with the rest of his things upstairs.” 

She squeezed his hand. “We’ll deal with all that later. For now, I just want to catch up with my son. And I would very much like to meet the witch who saved my son’s life and stole his heart.” 

“Oh, Mother, I’m not so sure…” 

“Is she here?” Narcissa rose to her feet and began to move towards the door. 

“Mother, wait.” But she was already leaving the office and venturing into the house. Draco raced after her, his heart pounding a rapid staccato in his chest. He skidded to a halt in the living room, where his mother had stopped just inside. 

Granger was seated in a chair by the fireplace, her honey eyes wide as she stared at Narcissa Malfoy. 

“You must be Hermione,” Narcissa greeted. She turned to Draco and gave him a pointed look, one that he recognised from his childhood. One that indicated that he must mind his manners. 

“Oh, yes.” He jumped and stepped forward to introduce them properly. “Mother, this is Hermione Granger. Hermione…” The name still felt foreign on his tongue. He wondered if it would ever feel natural to call her by her given name. “May I present my mother, Narcissa Malfoy.” 

Granger rose from her chair and straightened out her shirt before pushing her hair behind her ears and attempting to smooth the unmanageable curls. “It’s a pleasure, Mrs Malfoy.” Her voice was small, and Draco could see the fear in her eyes. Her movements were jerky, like a chipmunk trapped by a predator. Suddenly, she tucked one leg behind the other and dipped down slightly as she bowed her head in an odd type of curtsey before bolting upright again, her cheeks flaming in embarrassment. 

Draco nearly laughed at the image of Hermione Granger curtseying to his mother in her panic, but managed to quell his amusement. 

Narcissa looked Granger over, her grey eyes taking in her denim shorts and socked feet before sweeping over her unruly hair. Draco watched, trying to decipher the thoughts that were likely running through his mother’s mind. Surely Granger was not the type of woman his mother had imagined her son falling for. She was… wild. Untamed. Muggle-born. Everything that his mother wasn’t. 

He held his breath as his mother took a step towards Granger. She was several inches taller in her heels, and already an intimidating woman. Granger looked up at her, the worry in her eyes increasing by the second. Then, without warning, Narcissa threw her arms around Granger in a tight embrace. 

Granger’s eyes widened in shock, and she stood stiffly for a moment as if unsure what to do. Then her arms lifted and curled around his mother’s back, her brow furrowed with emotion and she closed her eyes as tears began to fall. 

A moment later, Narcissa pulled away, moving her hands to cradle Granger’s face. “Thank you for keeping my son safe,” she said softly. 

Tears were streaming down Granger’s face freely and she smiled.

“I look forward to getting to know you.” Narcissa gently wiped away a few tears from Granger’s cheeks with her thumbs before stepping back and clasping her hands in front of her. 

Granger nodded, beaming at Narcissa through her tears. 

The anxiety in Draco’s chest loosened, and he wondered why he had even been nervous at all. 

That night, Draco ate dinner with Granger and his mother. His mother asked them both dozens of questions about the war, telling them that news had been hard to come by in Greece. Draco and Granger both did their best to answer her, but there were many things he never wanted her to know the details of. How close he’d come to death at the hands of the Death Eaters’ potion, what he did to Pansy’s wand, how he retaliated after her death, the sheer number of men he had killed over the past year, Theo’s betrayal… He glossed over these details, keeping his answers vague. 

His mother mostly seemed interested in learning about Granger. She asked about her Muggle upbringing, what her parents did for a living, and how she had gotten interested in Healing. Granger sat straight as an arrow in her chair, taking small bites of her vegetables and dabbing her mouth with a napkin before answering. Her voice wavered slightly and her eyes darted around rapidly as if afraid to look his mother in the eye, but his mother just smiled at the two of them. 

After they had finished eating and talking, his mother rose from the table and brushed off her robes with delicate hands. “Thank you both for the pleasure of your company. I missed so much while I was abroad.” She smiled at Granger. “And it’s always wonderful to make new friends.” 

Granger blushed and smiled. 

Narcissa retired to bed, saying that her day of travels and reunions had made her quite weary. With so many Order members moved out, there was room for Shacklebolt to offer Narcissa a room of her own at Headquarters. 

“You’re too kind,” his mother accepted with a smile. “I assure you it’s only temporary.” Her eyes slid to Draco to address him. “We’ll have to discuss what to do about the Manor soon.” 

Draco nodded in response, choosing not to tell her that he would be all too happy to never set foot in the Manor again. 

Narcissa smiled at him, kissed his cheek, and then ascended the stairs for the evening. 

When Draco and Granger made their way upstairs as well, Draco closed and locked the door. Granger sat down on the bed, smiling up at him as he came to stand in front of her. 

“Your mother is lovely.” She reached out and grabbed hold of his wrists, running her hands up his arms. 

“She likes you,” Draco said, dropping to his knees before her and resting his hands on her thighs. 

Granger beamed. “Do you think so?” 

Draco nodded. 

“I was worried that she might not, because I’m—” 

_Muggle-born._ The word hung between them. A painful reminder of his past prejudices. 

Draco moved his thumbs over her skin in soothing circles. “She doesn’t seem to mind.”

Granger let out a little sigh of relief and smiled at him. 

Draco reached out to brush a curl off her forehead. “Are you sure you want to stay here? I would understand if you wanted to go somewhere else. I would prefer you _not_ go stay with Weasley, but I… I understand. Everyone else is leaving.” 

Granger leaned closer to him, her hands sliding up his arms to rest on his biceps. “I don’t want to go to the Burrow,” she replied gently. “I know we can’t stay here forever, but I was really hoping that…” 

Draco watched her as she trailed off. She was biting her lip, her eyes downcast.

“That we could find a place together?” he finished for her. 

Her eyes snapped to his, wide and shining. Her lips turned up. “Would you want to?” 

“Would _you_ want to?” Draco asked, nerves settling in his belly. “I only thought that since… since Longbottom house…” He trailed off and cleared his throat.

“Oh…” Granger frowned and the silence stretched between them for several seconds before she spoke again. “Draco, I—I’m so sorry about pushing you away. I wish I—You didn’t deserve that after everything you had to do.”

“It’s alright,” he assured her, ghosting his fingers over her cheek. 

She shook her head, curls bouncing around her shoulders. “Don’t do that. Don’t let me off so easily. You were brilliant… _frighteningly_ brilliant. And I just—” Her voice broke and she took a moment to collect herself. “You’re capable of such incredible things, Draco. Things I can’t do. And yes, they might be things that I don’t want to do, but if you hadn’t been capable of them, we would have died months ago.

“If you hadn’t been trained the way you were, if you had never learned those things, we never would have made it out of the Longbottom house alive. And we certainly wouldn’t have stood a chance against Theo last week.”

It was something that Draco had thought about a lot over the past few days. His training and subsequent career as Dolohov’s assassin had always been the thing about himself that he hated most, but now, in the wake of everything that had happened, he couldn’t bring himself to hate it anymore. It was a part of him—the part of him that had kept them both alive through so many trials over the past year. 

“Can you forgive me?” Granger asked, her lip trembling. 

Draco smirked, raising one eyebrow as he pretended to consider it. “I’ll think about it.” 

Granger laughed and smacked his arm playfully. “Prat.” 

Unable to stop himself any longer, Draco guided her toward him by the nape of her neck to kiss her hard. She let out a little squeak of surprise before melting into him, her fingers digging into his arms to pull him closer. 

Draco lifted himself off his knees only to drag Granger into the middle of the bed. He leaned over her, letting his tongue dart out to tease hers. Warm fingers delved under his shirt, pulling it up and tracing the lines of his torso. 

Moving back slightly, he removed his shirt before capturing her lips again. A little moan from the back of her throat had his cock twitching with anticipation. He dug his fingers into her hair, relishing the feeling of her curls in his fists. 

Granger arched her back, her breasts brushing his bare chest through her shirt. Dragging his mouth from hers, he lifted her shirt over her head, eyes taking in her emerald green bra with surprise. 

When he tore his eyes away from her breasts, he found her smirking at him. Like she’d planned this. _Minx._ With a deep growl, Draco dove down, lips connecting with the soft mound of her breast while he filled his hand with the other. 

Granger gasped and arched into him again, her hips jumping as he kneaded her breast. He reached around her, fingers fumbling with the clasp of her bra for a moment before it sprung free. Then he pulled the garment away and let his eyes take in her breasts. 

Her hands flew to his trousers, quickly releasing the buttons before pushing them over his hip bones. He stood up just long enough to let them fall to the ground before he reached for her denim shorts. Granger looked at him with dark, heated eyes as he unbuttoned them and pulled them down her legs, leaving her in only her lacy green knickers. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” he growled, dropping to his knees and running his hands up her legs, gently pushing them apart. He teased his fingers over her inner thighs, inching closer and closer to her center and smirking when she trembled with anticipation. 

His fingers brushed the edge of the lace and he watched her hips jump, desperately following his touch. Then he trailed his hands back down, massaging circles into the sides of her knees before moving back up again. 

“Please,” she whimpered, hips circling against nothing in search of relief. 

At last he brushed his thumb over her core through the soaked lace. She keened and his cock twitched, now rock hard in his boxers. 

Hooking his fingers into the waistband of her knickers, he dragged them down her legs. He stood up, his eyes drinking in the sight of her laid out before him. Heart filled to bursting, he silently vowed to never let her go again. 

Granger smiled up at him, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth alluringly. Draco shed his boxers and climbed over her, his mouth devouring hers. 

Her hand wrapped around his cock and he groaned into her mouth as she stroked him. 

“Gonna fuck you all night long, Granger,” he promised, circling his thumb over her clit before sinking two fingers into her hot cunt. 

“Yes, please,” she gasped, spreading her legs wider and throwing her head back in ecstasy. 

He didn’t stop until she was writhing beneath him, her moans and gasps filling the dark room. At last, he settled himself between her legs and sank into her warm sheath, unable to stop the low groan that escaped him. 

_“Fuck.”_

Granger wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer by pressing her heels into the globes of his arse. He stilled as he bottomed out within her, closing his eyes against the all-too-sexy image of her below him, her hair fanned out around her head and her lips parted as she panted. 

After a moment, he had regained enough control to draw back and then drive into her again. She let out a cracked cry and rolled her hips. He sank even deeper and cursed again. 

Her hands ran over his arms and shoulders as their hips snapped together with increasing speed. Draco dropped his head, trailing kisses along her neck as his fingers curled into her hair. He breathed in her scent as he drove into her, nearly losing himself to the bliss of being with her. 

Everything about her was surrounding him, drowning him. Her warmth, her scent, the sound of her breathy moans against his ear. 

He felt the telltale tightening deep within him, but he knew he could hold back for her. Her hips were moving erratically and he could feel her cunt fluttering. She was close, and he was determined to make her scream for him. 

Pushing himself up onto his palms, he drove into her with new force. She gasped and twisted her fingers into the blanket beside her head as her tits bounced with each thrust. With one hand, he reached between them, making tight circles against her with the pad of his thumb. 

With a wail, she came undone, arching her back as her legs trembled. Her hands clutched his biceps as she gasped and moaned. 

Draco didn’t stop. He fucked her through her orgasm until her arms had gone limp and her eyes were glassy. Then he hoisted up one of her legs, fingertips digging into the flesh of her arse as he leaned forward and drove into her quickly. Granger gasped at the change. He buried his face in her curls, white bursting behind his eyelids as he came with a grunt. 

As he caught his breath and slowly returned to his senses, Granger ran her fingers through his hair and over the back of his neck. At last, he pulled out of her with a shiver and collapsed onto his back next to her. 

Granger let out a contented sigh and rolled over to rest her head on his chest. He curled his arm around her and let his fingers drift through her hair. 

“I missed you,” she sighed, drawing absentminded shapes on his chest. 

Draco pressed a kiss against her forehead, his heart bursting with happiness. “Me too, Granger.” 

* * *

Sunlight trickled through the curtains and across the bed, gently rousing Draco from his slumber. His bed was warm and the blankets were heavy on his chest. He blinked, eyes opening to a forest of brown curls over his eyes. Pulling his head away slightly, he found Granger pressed into him, her arm draped over his chest and her legs tangled with his. 

A cursory glance revealed that she was still sleeping soundly, and he didn’t want to disturb her. With gentle fingers, brushed a few errant curls away from her parted lips. He let his eyes dart over her freckled nose and cheeks for a moment, unable to stop himself from kissing her forehead. 

The clock on the bedside table beyond her read nearly nine in the morning, and though Draco didn’t want to leave her after the night they’d shared—especially since he had woken her up twice during the night to make her moan for him again and again—he thought he could perhaps slip away just for a moment to make them some tea and breakfast. 

Moving slowly to avoid disturbing her, he inched backwards until he was free of her grasp. Her brow furrowed slightly with the loss, but relaxed again when he pulled the blanket over her shoulders. 

Draco pulled on some pajama trousers and a t-shirt before silently leaving the room. 

Headquarters was quiet as Draco ventured down the stairs and into the kitchen. He passed Potter in the living room and was met with a grimace and an uncharacteristic flushing of the Boy Wonder’s cheeks as he crossed to the kitchen. Odd… 

His mother was in the kitchen, sipping tea and reading _The Daily Prophet_ in powder blue robes. She looked up when he entered, her eyebrows jumping up. 

“I figured I wouldn’t see you until much later in the morning,” she quipped with a wry smile. 

“Why would you think that?” Draco asked, grabbing two cups and pouring tea into each. 

“It just seems that you had a very busy night.” 

Draco turned. His mother was peering at him over the rim of her teacup, lips barely holding back a smirk. 

He felt the blush rise up his neck as the realisation washed over him. Had he and Granger forgotten to silence their room? He wracked his brain, trying desperately to recall. Was that why Potter had given him a look? 

“I hope you two are being safe.”

Mortification swept over Draco with incredible force. Why had he come downstairs? He didn’t need food. He needed the floor to open up and swallow him whole. 

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I am _absolutely_ not discussing this with you.” He resolutely turned back to the tea, preparing Granger’s cup with peppermint, as he knew she liked it. If he had any luck at all, his mother would never speak of this again for the rest of their lives. 

He wasn’t lucky, as it turned out. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Narcissa continued, rising to her feet and carrying her plate and cup to the sink. She set them to wash with a wave of her wand before turning to Draco. “I would love to have grandchildren, but I hope you at least have the good sense to be sure that they would be legitimate.” 

“Mother! _Please stop.”_

“I take it you two talked and worked things out?” she prodded, pulling a long, brown hair from his t-shirt and letting it fall to the floor. 

Draco cleared his throat. “Erm… yes. We did.” 

His mother smiled and passed him the honey for his own tea. “I’m glad to hear it. But please, in the future, don’t forget the silencing charm. There are certain things a mother should _never_ hear her child do.” 

How fitting it would be to survive the war only to die of humiliation at the hands of his mother. 

Draco cleared his throat and nodded before hastily assembling a tray of tea, toast, and fruit and hurrying out of the kitchen and back up to his bedroom. 

Granger was sitting up in bed when he entered, looking groggy and appropriately bedraggled after their night of lovemaking. “I thought you left me,” she said with a smile as he closed the door and levitated the tray over to the bed. 

“Never.” He smirked over his shoulder before casting a silencing charm. He had no idea if their morning would lead to the charm being necessary, but after what he just went through in the kitchen he wasn’t going to take any chances. 

Granger took a sip of her tea as Draco climbed onto the bed next to her. She smiled at him as she inhaled the peppermint scent. “Thanks for making breakfast.” 

Draco raised his brow at the sad display of toast and fruit. “I would have done more, but my mother was in the kitchen. It… er… it seems we forgot to silence the room last night.” 

Granger nearly dropped her teacup. Her head snapped to him so quickly that her curls whipped around her face. “What? I thought you did!” 

Draco grimaced and shook his head, reaching for a strawberry. “So I was in a hurry to get out of there.” 

Granger set her cup down on the tray and flopped back onto the pillows, her hands flying to her face. “She heard _everything?”_ Her voice was muffled by her palms, but Draco could see the red flush on her neck. 

“It seems so.” 

A mortified groan left Granger’s lips. 

“Potter too… maybe. He didn’t say anything though. Just gave me a look.” 

Granger’s hands crept up, fingers sinking into her hair. “Well… I’m never leaving this room again.” 

“Fine with me,” Draco agreed, sipping his tea. 

Granger sat up and reached for a piece of toast. “Good thing I go back to work tomorrow. I can’t face your mother again after this.” 

Draco blinked. “You’re going back to work?” 

She nodded. “When I was your full-time Healer, I stopped going into the hospital. After you were released from my care, Shacklebolt told St Mungo’s that I would be working as the Order’s on-site Healer full-time for the remainder of the war. He didn’t want me going back and forth anymore since I was a target, and things were getting so dangerous that he couldn’t devote so much manpower to my protective guard. But now that the war is over, I’m really excited to go back.” 

Draco had gotten so used to having her around every day. He wondered how he would occupy his time while she worked. 

“So, when we’re looking for a place to live,” Granger pressed on, “I was wondering if you’d be opposed to looking for a place in London near the hospital. I know I can always Apparate, but I like being close by. I’ve explored that area quite a lot over the past couple of years and I think it’d be a nice neighborhood to live in.” 

“Sure,” Draco said. “Wherever you’d like.” 

“But I also don’t want you to feel like you’re too far from work.” She paused, casting him a sideways glance. “If you decide to work… Have you given it any thought?” 

Draco had never had a job… not in the conventional sense at least. He had never even given much thought to what he would like to do. When he was a child, he’d had dreams of becoming a Quidditch player. But now, the thought of being in the public eye didn’t interest him anymore. And besides, it had been years since he’d played consistently. He was probably much too out of practice to stand a chance of making a team. 

By the time he gave real thought to his future, the Dark Lord was making all of Draco’s decisions for him. His future was predetermined. Laid out before his feet with a wand at his back forcing him to walk. 

He hadn’t considered what he might do after the war. Perhaps he hadn’t expected to survive long enough to have to decide. 

“I’m not qualified to do anything.” 

“Nonsense!” Granger sent him a scowl over her teacup. “You’re a brilliant wizard with countless skills.” 

“My only _skills_ are not the sort of things that are going to look good on a resumé, Granger,” Draco grumbled. “Besides, I don’t even know what I would _want_ to do.” 

“What about being an Auror?” she suggested. “I’m sure your skills would do well in a job like that. I bet you would fly through the training program.” 

Draco thought about it. The idea of being Potter’s subordinate and having to follow hundreds of Ministry rules and laws didn’t particularly appeal to him. “I don’t think so, Granger.” He shook his head. “I’m an assassin. It’s all I’m good at.” 

Granger set down her tea and leaned into his shoulder, looping her arm around his. “That’s not true. You’re far better at _protecting_ people if you ask me.” 

Draco’s heart fluttered, and he felt warm from her love and acceptance of him.

“You have time to figure it out. No one is saying you have to know right now.” She interlaced her fingers with his and offered him a loving smile. 

“I’ll think about it,” Draco promised. As much as he wanted to stay here forever with her in their little _silenced_ room where they’d shared their first kiss, he supposed that they had to move forward. And he was very much looking forward to building a future with her, wherever it might take them. 

* * *

The next day, Draco accompanied Granger to St Mungo’s. While she hurried off to greet her coworkers and meet with patients, Draco visited Charlie, who had woken up two days prior and was healing quite well. 

Draco hadn’t been to St Mungo’s since he’d hobbled out with Granger supporting him eight months ago. It felt odd to wander the corridors without the use of a walker. Odd to see the Healers that had tended to him so carefully for weeks barely pay him any mind as they passed on their rounds. 

As Draco settled in the chair next to Charlie’s bed, he was reminded that Charlie had been one of the only Order members to visit him when he’d been in his darkest hours. He felt a rush of gratitude for the man sitting up in bed before him. 

Charlie looked pale, but grinned at Draco as they spoke. He asked about Theo and seemed relieved to hear that the man who had nearly killed him and masqueraded as him was dead. 

“As soon as I’m released and cleared to return to work, I’ll be going back to Romania,” said Charlie. “It was always meant to just be temporary, me being here.” 

“I’m sure you’re excited to get back to work.” Draco tried to quell the disappointment blooming within him at the thought of Charlie moving so far away. 

If Charlie noticed Draco’s sadness, he didn’t comment on it. “I am. I’m sure my dragons have been missing me. Well… as much as dragons _can_ miss a person.” He laughed and then grimaced, reaching for his side where Draco could see his wrappings under his thin hospital gown. 

He pressed on, shifting gingerly into a more slumped position. “I’ll be home for George’s wedding. They came to visit yesterday. Apparently they’re thinking about November.” 

“That’s rather soon.” Draco’s eyebrows lifted. 

“Well, you know George.” Charlie grinned. “Always diving straight into the deep end after barely testing the waters. It’s worked out for him so far. I have no doubt that this will too.” 

Charlie promised to stop by when he was released before leaving for Romania. After Draco left, he returned to Headquarters and spoke with his mother about the Manor. He told her that he had no interest in ever living there again, but that he would help her refurbish it if she longed to make it her home once more. 

When Narcissa heard that Draco and Granger were planning to move in together, she was elated. 

“Oh, we’ll have to take your grandmother’s ring to the curse breakers to be sure that it’s ready for her. And you know our property in France is lovely in the spring. If you give me enough notice, I can have the house-elves prepare the garden for a small ceremony.” 

“Mother,” Draco cut her off, eyes wide. “I’m not _marrying_ her. Not yet, at least.” 

She just gave him a warm smile, a knowing glint in her eye. “Alright, my dragon.” She patted his hand gently, but said no more on the subject. 

When Granger came home that evening she was a flurry of excitement. She hurried through the Floo and threw her arms around his neck as soon as she saw him. Her grin stretched ear to ear and she immediately began babbling without breathing. 

“I met a Healer today! He’s a new hire from my leave of absence. His name is Spalding… or Spangler… no, Spalding. And he specialises in memory charm reversal.” She set down her beaded bag by the coffee table and began pacing around, her hair swinging freely around her shoulders. 

_“Memory charms,_ Draco! I have no idea if he’s ever worked with Muggles before, or with patients whose memory loss is quite so extensive as my parents’, but wouldn’t it be great if he could help me get their memories back?” She was speaking fast, her hands gesticulating broadly. 

“Of course, I’ll have to discuss travelling with him to Australia. I’m sure international Portkeys aren’t cheap. I’ll probably have to work for a while to save up, especially with us trying to find a place to live… I wonder if I’ll have to take time off of work. I probably can’t since I just had so much time away. I’ll have to talk to my supervisor and see what could be done. Maybe I can go back and forth. Or maybe it’s better if I’m not there during the early stages of their memory charm reversal. Do you think that would be upsetting for them? And what if they’re angry once they remember what I did? What if… what if they’re happier without me?”

“Granger,” Draco cut her off, grabbing her upper arms and pulling her into his chest to stop her pacing. “Don’t worry about that. They’re going to be thrilled to have you back in their lives. And as for the cost… well, I don’t want you worrying about that either. I’ll pay for the Portkeys… or for our new place. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

“You would do that?” Granger looked up at him with teary eyes, her arms snaking around his waist. 

“Of course,” Draco said, tucking a hair behind her ear and cupping her cheek. “I haven’t used it in years, but I have a pretty sizable fortune waiting in Gringotts. And seeing as I’m now _Lord Malfoy,”_ he sneered at the title, “I see no reason why I shouldn’t use that fortune to make sure that the woman I love has the opportunity to reconnect with those that are most important to her.” 

Granger buried her face in his chest, squeezing him tight around the ribs. “Thank you.” 

Draco kissed the top of her head, letting her warmth surround him. 

She pulled back suddenly, giving him a stern look and poking a finger into his chest. “It’s a loan though. I’m not taking handouts.” 

Draco laughed. “Sure, Granger. Would you like for me to draw you up a contract? Perhaps with interest?” 

“That won’t be necessary. But I expect you to tell me exactly what you spend so that I can pay you back in full when I have the money.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Draco chuckled, pulling her back against his chest. With any luck, in a year or so, they would share their finances and she wouldn’t need to worry about paying him back. But that was a topic for another day. 

* * *

His mother decided to move back into the Manor, so over the next few weeks, she began the process of making restorations and renovations. Draco learned that when she had left last year she had taken two of the Malfoy house-elves with her, and as she hadn’t known what the situation would hold, she’d left them in Greece temporarily. But now that she was beginning work on the Manor, she’d called them back so that they could help with the process. 

Although he would have been happy to never return to the Manor, Draco spent his days helping her. He avoided his old bedroom—not wanting to see how badly it had been damaged by Dolohov’s fire—and he steered clear of the drawing room. He helped his mother oversee the plans for the renovations and pick out furnishings. 

In the evenings, after Granger was off work, Draco returned to Headquarters to meet her and then they left to look at flats together. It seemed that they had very different tastes when it came to flats. Granger, it seemed, would be perfectly content to live in a run down shoebox if it meant getting a bargain. But Draco thought it was worth it to pay a little extra to have more space and finer finishes. 

When he told her that he would be happy to pay the difference, she stomped her foot and sent him a fiery glare. “I’m not going to let you pay for everything! You can’t just throw money around and get your way!” 

Draco laughed and gestured at the tiny living room of the dingy flat they were standing in. “If throwing money around means I don’t have to live in this hovel, then I’ll happily empty my vault.” 

It led to their first true argument as a couple, and though he knew he shouldn’t antagonise her, Draco couldn’t help but keep her angry for a bit longer than necessary. It had been so long since she’d fought with him like this, eyes alight with anger, hair crackling with energy, her tiny body practically vibrating as she spoke her piece. He loved it. He loved _her._ And he couldn’t wait to argue with her for years to come. 

In the end, they compromised on a small but high-end flat in London. They would have to stay at Headquarters for another week before they could move in, and with the number of Order members still lingering dwindling by the day, Draco was eager to move out. 

Potter left Headquarters for the home left to him by Sirius Black. “It hasn’t been safe since the war began,” he explained to Draco when asked why it hadn’t been used during the war as a safe house. “But now that it’s over I’ve finally had the chance to go and get it set up. There’s a lot of work to be done to make it livable, but at least I’ll be out of Kingsley’s house.” 

Draco looked around the living room of Headquarters. “This is _Shacklebolt’s_ house?” 

Potter nodded. “I’m surprised you didn’t know. He opened it up to the Order when the war began and we needed a base of operations.” 

Draco suddenly felt it was more important than ever to leave as soon as possible. He certainly didn’t want to overstay his welcome at the Minister of Magic’s home. 

The day before he and Granger were scheduled to move into their new flat, Shacklebolt called Draco into his office. 

“I hear you and Hermione will be leaving tomorrow,” the Minister said, walking around his desk and sinking into his leather chair. 

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry if we’ve been an imposition.” Draco thought of the night he’d forgotten to silence the bedroom and had to fight the flush that threatened to redden his cheeks. 

Shacklebolt waved him off. “I’m sure I’ll have guests in and out over the next several months as things continue to settle down. I actually wanted to talk to you about your future.” 

A wave of dread swept over Draco. He had thought about his potential career options since Granger had brought it up, but he was no closer to figuring out what he might like to do with his life. 

“There was an incident last year in which a young man managed to break past my wards at the Ministry of Magic and gained access to my office.” There was a glint in Shacklebolt’s eye as he spoke. “Luckily, the perpetrator was not seeking sensitive information, nor did he wish to cause me harm. The Auror Department has looked into the wards and has assured me that they are extremely secure; however, I think it would be wise to consult with an expert on the matter.” 

Shacklebolt slid a folder across the desk. Draco flipped it open to see a long document. He read the first sentence. 

_This contract hereby entitles_ _Malfoy Security Firm_ _full rights and access to the protective wards and security of the office of the Minister of Magic at the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, London, and the office of the Minister of Magic at the Ministry of Magic, London._

“Malfoy... _Security Firm?”_ Draco furrowed his brow. 

Shacklebolt shrugged. “Of course, if you want to change the name, you can call it whatever you like and I’ll have another contract drawn up.” 

“You’re offering me a job?” 

Shacklebolt stood and walked around his desk. “I’ve never met anyone who had such a talent for ward building and breaking as you do. I figured we could start with my personal offices and then discuss the opportunity to expand to other areas of the Ministry. The archives, the Department of Mysteries… perhaps even Azkaban. What do you say?” 

A security firm… Draco hadn’t even thought about a career in security, although it would certainly cater to his strengths. Suddenly, his stomach was swooping with excitement at the idea of running his own business. A company founded in his name specialising in the protection of important people and places. 

He thought of Granger’s words. 

_You’re far better at protecting people if you ask me._

“Did Granger put you up to this?” 

Shacklebolt frowned. “I haven’t spoken privately with Hermione since she delivered her report on the final battle. I certainly haven’t discussed this potential business proposition with her.” 

Draco looked back at the contract. He would need the evening to look it over. But the offer was intriguing. It seemed mad that Shacklebolt and Granger would both independently mention his protective skills. Perhaps those qualities were more obvious in him than he’d previously thought. 

“I’ll do it,” Draco announced. “I’ll need to figure out the logistics. I’ve never started a business before, but… yes. I’m in.” 

Shacklebolt grinned and clapped his hands together. “Wonderful! Read through the contract. Feel free to get legal representation to look at it as well. Take some time to suss out the details. And if you need any help or guidance, feel free to come to me. I’m sure my wards can’t keep you out for long.” The Minister winked and then escorted Draco from his office with a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

Granger was ecstatic when Draco told her about Shacklebolt’s offer that evening. She threw her arms around his neck for a moment and then pulled away to talk to him animatedly, practically bouncing on her toes as she did. 

“A security company! That’s a wonderful idea! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it. Kingsley is so brilliant to see the potential there.” 

Draco grinned at her excitement. She began pacing back and forth, brow furrowed in concentration as she rambled on. 

“Oh, we’ll have to see if there’s any business rentals available. A small place at first, just to get you started, but then it could grow from there. And what an amazing way to get the company off the ground. Private security for the _Minister of Magic_ himself! Other people and companies are going to be tripping over themselves to try to sign on with your company. Oh, Draco! This is—”

He silenced her with a kiss, unable to stop himself from celebrating his new enterprise in the best way he knew how. 

* * *

The next day, Draco and Hermione moved into their new flat. Although many had offered to let them take some of their old furniture to get them started, Draco insisted on buying everything new. He’d be damned if he started off in his first home sleeping on an extra bed from the Weasley’s attic, or lounging on one of Potter’s dusty old couches. This was their fresh start, and he wanted it all to be perfect. 

The following week, Draco found a small office space to rent in Diagon Alley. He spoke with a solicitor his mother recommended about legally setting up Malfoy Security Firm. After that he was officially open for business. He began with the Minister’s tasks—checking and strengthening the security of his offices at the Ministry. He also changed the wards on Shacklebolt’s house. The war was over, and as such there was no longer a need for so many people to have access to the home. Draco altered the wards so that access was limited to only Shacklebolt and his invited guests. 

As his first official job wrapped up and word got out that Draco Malfoy was being trusted with the Minister’s private security detail, Draco was inundated with new prospective clients. He had assumed that most people would be wary of hiring an ex-Death Eater for their protective services, but with Shacklebolt’s endorsement, the requests flooded in. 

Granger was busy as well. Between her regular Healer duties and working with Spalding on her parents’ memory reversal, she spent long hours at St Mungo’s and always came home with stories about the progress she’d made with her patients or the promising news Spalding had discovered in his research. 

As October began, Draco and Granger began to travel back and forth to Australia on the weekends. They went twice on their own to locate the Grangers, and then several more times with Spalding. The middle-aged wizard was always cordial, even if he was a very stuffy and serious travel companion. Spalding began the first meeting with the Grangers—Wilkins, as they thought their name was, by getting them to realise small inconsistencies in their memories. Granger had done an incredible job, so this was no easy feat. 

She and Draco sat in the cafe across the street from the Wilkins’ home in Sydney while Spalding worked. Granger twisted her napkin in her hands and chewed her bottom lip nervously until Draco placed his hand reassuringly over hers. It would be several sessions before her parents would be ready to meet her, but she hadn’t been able to resist getting a glimpse of them as they walked home from work hand in hand. 

After a couple of hours, Spalding entered the cafe and joined them at their table. “Progress.” 

Granger’s face lit up. “Really?” 

Spalding nodded. “Their memory should be able to be completely restored. I think I’ll stay here for a few days and see what I can do. Then I’ll travel back and forth for a bit with more sporadic visits. I’ll contact you when I think they’re ready to meet you.” 

Granger’s eyes swam with tears. She beamed at the Healer and nodded. “Thank you.” 

Draco shook Spalding’s hand as they departed and promised to reimburse him for his expenses. 

They were warned it would take many weeks—perhaps even months, for a full recovery to take place. Still, Spalding worked tirelessly, splitting his time between St Mungo's and Australia. Draco was grateful that the Healer was so diligent, because he could remind Hermione of that diligence when she grew worried to the point of distraction. He used Spalding’s frequent updates to reassure her.

"Remember what Spalding said last week? They remember having a daughter now. I’m sure you’ll get to meet them very soon. Just be patient, love." 

She gave a little sniffle and he rubbed circles into her back and kissed her temple. And in the end, she thanked him for making her feel better. 

"What would I do without you?" she murmured into his shoulder. 

His heart fluttered as he answered, "It's me who should be asking that."

* * *

George and Angelina married on a brisk sunny day in November. Granger wore a tight-fitting long sleeved red dress that kept Draco so distracted that he could hardly remember a single detail about the wedding. George and Angelina were blissfully happy, both sporting wide grins as they gazed lovingly at each other during the ceremony. But as lovely as Angelina looked in her gown, Draco couldn’t help but think that Granger would be infinitely more beautiful adorned in white lace. 

After the ceremony, Draco escorted Granger across the lawn into the reception tent where Charlie and Bill were laughing loudly and starting the party off with far too much alcohol and horrible dancing to boisterous music. As they walked, Granger looped her arm around his and smiled up at him. 

They passed the warped windows of the Burrow, and as he caught sight of their reflection, he was struck with the memory of their trip to Muggle London just before Christmas last year. It was the first time she’d held his arm, the first time he’d thought about what it might be like to go on a date with her. And now here they were. She was his, and he was hers. 

As they took the dance floor, Draco pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard, one hand pulling her in by the small of her back and the other slipping into the curls at the nape of her neck. She tilted her head up, slanting her lips gently against his as her hands slid up his arms. 

When he pulled away she grinned up at him. “What was that for?” 

“I love you. Do you know that?” 

Granger nodded and wrapped her arms around his middle to pull him close. “I know. And I love you, too.” 

He pulled her hand into his and began to guide her as they danced across the floor. She was untrained and clumsy, and she stepped on his toes more than once, apologising with a blush each time, but Draco didn’t mind in the slightest. 

It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been brought up with all of the graces of a pureblood education. She wasn’t the woman he’d envisioned himself with when he was younger, but Draco didn’t care. He was sure that he wasn’t the man she’d envisioned either. But they’d found each other, and as imperfect as they were, she felt like perfection to him. 

All of his past crimes and flaws and darkness… none of that mattered. She was here. She saw him for everything he was and she still wanted him. And when he held her in his arms, he felt like he was finally in the light. 

  
  
  
  


_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it! Let me know what you think in the comments and come chat with me on the Department of Fandom discord server in the #gracefullioness channel. 
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> See y'all in the next one. <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [In the Face of Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26646919) by [BiscuitsForPotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiscuitsForPotter/pseuds/BiscuitsForPotter)




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